Finding Our Way
by Myriad-13
Summary: Sequel to 'On the Mend.' Don Flack and Savannah Cormier are together. But love isn't perfect, and neither are they. As they become more intertwined, new troubles crop up and challenge their bond. Rated for swearing, some violence and implied sex. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: I'm BAAAAAAAACK! With more Don/Savannah goodness! But this time I'm throwing all sorts of problems at them that I didn't include in OTM because I thought it would be too soon for that. Be prepared for the ride everyone. For those who don't know who Savannah is and why she's in a relationship with Flack should read my fic 'On the Mend.' **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Mentions of nakedness.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 1 – Calm Before the Storm**

* * *

_Slide over here let your hands feel the way  
There's no better method to communicate  
So girl stop your talking  
Words just get in the way  
I'll be your man _

**James Blunt – I'll be your man**

* * *

Feet pounded on the sidewalk. One man following another with the backdrop of sirens. Shouts, calls, indignant, panicked.

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Move lady!"

"Russell Lisc, stop, NYPD!"

A young man looked back briefly, panting harshly as he saw a pair of determined blue eyes closing in on him. He turned front and narrowly missed tripping over a crate – jumping over it at the last second. He turned down another side street, hearing the strong stride of the detective behind him. Lisc yelped as a car came out of nowhere, unable to slow down and smacking into the hood. He groaned as the detective ran into him, shoving him harder against the metal.

"Russell Lisc, you are under arrest for the robbery of the mayor's office," Detective Don Flack announced, controlling his laboured breathing as he slapped the cuffs on Lisc. "Although I'm tempted to add pissing a detective off onto the charges."

Lisc just sighed, banging his head on the hood.

Danny's head poked out of the driver side window, a grin on his face. "My timing? Cleaner than the ball drop on New Years Eve Flack. Have fun running?"

"Shut it, I'm already in a bad mood."

"Should I start calling you Usain Bolt?" Danny continued to tease as Flack bundled their suspect into the car.

"Funny Messer, you should quit being a CSI and go into stand up comedy," retorted the taller detective.

"Only if you go with me."

"Man, this is bogus," Lisc grumbled from the back seat.

"I _will_ add the charge of annoying a detective if you keep going. It will be so much easier for you if you just admit to it and maybe the mayor won't find a way to bury you," Flack replied warningly. "I got pulled out of a murder investigation for this."

"Whatever man...you should take a chill pill bro."

Flack huffed while Danny just smirked. "You're just pissed that you and Savannah can't go out tonight because Captain called ya back in. Cool it a little," he mentioned to his friend.

"If we can get him to admit it, I can still salvage _some_ of the evening even if we can't make our usual plan."

Danny looked into the rear-view mirror and felt a pang of sympathy for Don. By the stubborn pouty look on their suspect's face, he had a feeling that just wasn't going to happen. He only hoped that Flack wouldn't blow his top too much.

* * *

Trudging wearily up the short steps to Savannah's apartment building, Flack checked his watch. 8.49pm. Shit. If he hadn't been called to stay back later than his shift he and Savannah would probably be finishing dinner and watching the Rangers game right about now. When he had called her, as per usual, she had been understanding. It was him that wished he could have gone 'to hell with it' and spent some time with his girlfriend. Fishing the key she gave him out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and announced himself.

He heard her reply from down the hallway.

"In here!"

Dropping his jacket and other essential belongings on the table, Don wandered down the hallway, seeing light shining from the bathroom doorway. He peeked in and smiled at the sight.

Savannah had obviously decided to have a little 'me' time in light of their non-date.

She was in the bath, the scent of peach and rose perfuming the air from the bubbles that covered her modesty. Her curly hair was pinned up and she was reading a book and sipping on a beer. He noticed that there was a full, unopened bottle on the ledge. He grabbed the shower stool and sat as she turned to him and smiled. "You look comfortable," he murmured, reaching out and stroking a finger over her cheek.

"Long day. When I heard we weren't going out, I thought it'd be a good time for a bubble bath," Savannah replied, leaning into the tender touch. "Want to join me?"

Don's eyes flicked over her bubble covered body as she sat up straighter, a long smooth leg poking out of the water. "You're trusting it not to get sexual?"

"I think we are capable of _some_ self control," she snickered. "Besides, we're both tired. I think we can manage to have a simple bath together without getting frisky."

Flack shrugged and pulled off his shirt and dropped it to the ground. "Fine, but let me remind you whose idea it was if we end up being kinky in the bathtub."

"Fine by me sugar. I'm happy enjoying the view, " the brunette purred, tilting her head to the side as Don stripped off his wife-beater, jeans, and boxers. "Can I just say I like this recent look when you go into work. No ties, a bit more relaxed. Suits you more."

"I can't wear those formal suits anymore. Not only were they expensive to replace, but the whole tie thing was your fault."

Savannah shrugged. "I thought it would be a nice surprise for you to come home to find me covered and bound in your ties. Not my fault you can't help but think of it each time you put one on."

"Oh yes it is. Completely your fault. It was your master plan. You just wanted it to be easier to undress me at the end of the day," he bantered back. Don just rolled his eyes when Savannah tried to look innocent and slipped in behind her, sighing as the warm water hit his exhausted body. He wrapped an arm around Savannah and pulled her back to him so they were resting chest to back, Savannah's cheek next to his. He laid a few chaste kisses along her shoulder and felt the days stresses melt away. "You smell good."

"It's the bath oil. The other beer is for you," Savannah said softly, enjoying the contact but fixated on her book again.

"You planned this," Flack deduced shrewdly.

"I hoped you would be here before I decided to slip into my jammies. I thought it would be nice," Savannah justified with a mysterious smile. She turned the page. "On the phone you sounded like you needed a little pampering or something like this."

"Mmmm."

"Oh, by the way, I'm taping the Rangers game if you want to watch it."

Don paused incredulously before chuckling and resting his forehead on her shoulder blade. "That right there is one of the biggest reasons why you're my girlfriend," he murmured.

"It couldn't be because you love me, huh?"

"Might be because of that," Don countered softly, grabbing the washcloth from the ledge, dipping it into the water and scrubbing it slowly over her back, paying special attention to the scarred tissue from her past abuse. He pressed a kiss to it, asking, "How are you feeling about the Wallace sentencing?"

Jake Wallace had been a past boyfriend of Savannah's when she was in her mid-20's. He ended up abusing her – which she escaped from with a few scars – and later killing her best friends, prompting her to move to New York. He then found her and kidnapped her five months ago in the beginning of October, prompting Flack and the CSI's to come to her rescue. Due to Savannah's high esteem in the community and especially in the eyes of the Crime Lab and the NYPD, the trial process had been sped up – instead of taking a year or so, the whole process had been over in a matter of months – and the final sentencing had been given four days ago. Don made sure to check on his partners feelings on the matter. She had been so strong during every day in court, being called up as a witness and facing Wallace all over again, that he felt the need to make sure she was okay.

"I think 9 years for kidnapping in New York and 50 years for the murders of Amanda and James in Virginia is more than fair," Savannah replied calmly. "I've come to terms with it. Don't worry about me Don."

"Can't help it," he said.

Savannah leaned back and turned her head to lay a kiss on his neck. "I know." She then placed her book on the bath ledge and turned around in the water so that their fronts were pressed into each other. The water and bubbles made her movements seem serpentine. Leaning her chin on his chest, Savannah questioned, "What about you? How are you feeling? Just in general."

"Tired," said Don, threading a hand through her hair.

"In a way, it was kind of a good thing we didn't go out then," Savannah observed.

Don disagreed and his face showed it. "We haven't been out on a proper date for a few weeks," he reminded.

"I realise that, but honestly? I'm just glad you came here so we can have some down time," she replied, leaning up to kiss him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations that never failed to trip down his spine when their lips touched. He pulled back and mumbled, "You know, I would love to have a go at it, but I don't think I could perform adequately enough."

"Then let's put some lead in your pencil. Hungry?" Savannah said, a knowing gleam in her green-grey eyes.

"For more than food."

"The 'more than' can come later. First, we'll warm up that spaghetti bolognaise and watch the game, and then we'll see how frisky you are after that Don," she hummed, sliding off him and getting out, grabbing a towel. Don just watched her like she had watched him stripping earlier – admiring her curves. He wished he was the towel being wrapped around that shapely frame and smirked amusedly. Savannah noticed this and winked at him. "Later," she reminded.

"Yeah yeah. At least I have the Rangers to sustain me," Don quipped and followed her actions, towelling off.

Later, they were on Savannah's couch curled up together watching the recorded game. Don was in fresh clothes – they had learned to keep a few spare sets of clothes at each other's places just in case – and was making Savannah giggle every now and then with his enthusiastic responses to the game. He was happy because his favourite team was winning.

"I still don't understand it when you call the moves some weird names, but go Rangers!" Savannah cheered along with him.

"I will make a hockey lover out of you yet," promised Don.

"It's been over 9 months. I think you're fighting a losing battle," she joked.

"Doesn't mean I'm not going to try."

"Speaking of trying…Stella and her move to New Orleans…she's not budging, is she?" asked Savannah.

Flack shook his head. "Nope. No matter what any of us are saying or doing, she really wants to move. Has she talked about it with you at all?"

"Just that she thinks it's time for a change and that she'll finally get the opportunity to be the 'big boss.' I can understand that. But my hometown feels so far from here. And I don't think that it's the whole reason why she's moving," she explained. When Don raised a brow in question, she continued, "It's like she's really tired. In her spirit. Like New York has just exhausted her and she can't take it anymore."

Don seemed to consider this. He murmured, "You really think that?"

Savannah looked up at him, a slight frown marking her brow. "Yeah…yeah I do. And although it will suck if she moves away and we'll all lose her company, I think that Stella has to do what's best for her. And if moving away does that, then good for her," she said.

"Yeah, but…" Don trailed off, troubled.

"I know. You guys have all worked together for so long it'll be like losing a body part," the brunette reasoned.

"It's going to be so weird to be in a New York without Stella," he stated blandly, clearly not assured by this. Savannah just gave him a knowing look and hugged him, murmuring, "We'll get through it. We always do. We'll weather those storms if we have each other."

Little did she know just how vital those words would become.

* * *

**A/N: Haha, hope you found the opening chapter cute. So it's established. Wallace in jail, Anna and Don are fairly happy with each other and have been going out officially for 9 months. However, life isn't perfect. These two are going to go through more so be prepared for anything. **

**Reviews are always welcome and are always awesome.**


	2. Hello Jo!

**A/N: This chapter is meant to be set about a fortnight after the last chapter. So we're in the 18****th**** of March. Thank you for such great response to the last chapter and for all the favourites, follows, and reviews – it's really given me motivation for this chapter. To Forest Angel, Leslie Emm, Smuffly, Kayla and jj, you guys rock my world. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Mild Swearing

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 2 – Hello Jo!**

* * *

_Oh I get by with a little help from my friends  
Mmm going to try with a little help from my friends  
Oh I get high with a little help from my friends  
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends  
With a little help from my friends_

**The Beatles – With a little help from my friends**

* * *

Mac almost didn't know what to make of his new second in command. He knew she was ex-FBI, and would no doubt have a large knowledge base because of it. But he didn't expect Jo Danville to fit into the team as neatly and as easily as she did. She had made a hell of a first impression on him – from the first case, her head was in the game and her drive was incredible. While he noted that she had already turned into her office into something that looked like a bomb hit it, at least she seemed to know where everything was.

But what caught him off guard was her wit and her warmth.

It was such a direct contrast to Stella's beginning in the lab as a closed off new recruit.

Right now Jo was talking about her two children, Tyler and Ellie, as he drove to Comfort Cafe. He listened in amusement. Something about her was familiar and he hoped that treating her to lunch would bring it out so he could pinpoint it.

"So Mac," Jo said, "Where is this place you're taking me to again?"

"Comfort Cafe. It's the team's favourite place to eat. I think you'll like the owner," Mac supplied as he found a park in the side alley.

Jo stepped out, coming around with a slight smile on her face. "This isn't a part of the new woman hazing is it?" she asked.

"No, no," assured Mac. "Nothing like that. Just showing you where you're more likely to go when we go out to lunch."

"I look forward to it then," Jo drawled. They went around to the front and entered, Mac sighing as the familiar smell of herbs and spices registered in his mind. Here, he could relax, even if it was only for a little while. He headed to the usual table with Jo trailing behind. He saw Jacks at the counter and called out, "Hey, where is she?"

Jacks replied, "Just out the back…she's working on this weird-ass casserole, the crazy woman. I'll tell her you're here."

As Mac nodded and sat, Jo looked faintly bemused. "The owner usually drops everything to come out to see you whenever y'all come in?" she asked.

Mac gave a little smile. "Usually. She and my team have been through a few things together. She's a great friend to us all and she's really quite a special woman…not to mention a great cook too." He paused, craning his neck to see the kitchen door as it opened and Savannah came out. "Here she is."

Jo turned just as Savannah looked up from drying her hands on a cloth.

Savannah stopped, eyes widening. "Jo?" she whispered incredulously.

"Savannah?" Jo stood then as Savannah rushed towards her and held her arms open.

Mac could only watch in amused disbelief as the two women embraced, laughing loudly and squealing with delight. Savannah jumped on the spot, lighting up in a way that he only saw when she was around Don. "Oh my gosh! You're actually here, in New York!" the younger woman cried joyfully. She then pulled back, looking the older woman over. "You are a sight for sore eyes. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," explained Jo with a grin. "I was going to e-mail you within the next week and let you know, but here we are."

"Permanently?"

"So far. I'm with the Crime Lab now."

"Ah, you've replaced Stella. I know it's been about a week, but I still expect her to come in," realised Savannah, nodding.

"Hate to interrupt this reunion, but…you two know each other?" Mac asked.

Jo and Savannah turned to him, an arm slung around each other's shoulders. "We're second cousins," they chorused, and snickered at the stunned look on the lead CSI's face. Savannah took pity on him first and decided to clue him in. "Jo is a second cousin on my father's side of the family. So his cousins daughter. We've seen each other a few times throughout the years but we've mostly had an e-mail relationship. Jo was a great help when I was going through all that crap with my friends' murders. Helped speed up some processes. But I had no idea she was moving here!" Savannah squeezed her excitedly. "What about Tyler and Ellie? They here too?"

"You bet," Jo replied, hugging her again. "Oh it is so good to see you honey."

"You too." The cafe owner seemed to come back to herself then and she ushered Jo into the seat. "How rude of me. You guys must be freaking _starving_. I'll bring some food out and then we'll have a good chat huh?" Without waiting for an answer, Savannah hurried off to create more of her culinary goodness.

Mac looked at Jo, who looked a bit cheerier than before. "I'm surprised she didn't tell you that she had a cafe…or that she didn't mention her friends to you," he observed.

Jo shrugged. "We never talked about business in depth. I couldn't exactly tell her about my work in the FBI, so we talked more about personal and general things. Like popular movies and books and girl stuff. When she moved here, she mentioned owning and working in a cafe with Jacks and staying in her Aunt's building. And when she mentioned friends, she never mentioned names. Savannah just said that she had met the most amazing people in law enforcement and that she felt safe around them," she said. "I knew Anna was a tough kid, so I didn't pry. If she wanted to tell me more, she would."

"It's fascinating that this is such a coincidence. I believe now, more than ever, that everything is connected," Mac commented wryly.

"Everything?" questioned Jo.

"Well…most things," he admitted.

Jo looked around the cafe properly then and looked at the cake cabinet. With a noise of contemplation she said, "Y'know, now that I think about it…I should have recognised it as Savannah's place. Evangeline on the wall, the red coffee machine and the blue tables. When she was younger and still in Eva's, she never had the money to go all out like she wanted to. She wanted a place…well, that was just like this. It's nice to know her dreams are coming true in the Big Apple."

"Speaking of dreams coming true," Mac said shrewdly, "Did Savannah ever mention a man in her life?"

Jo looked a little disconcerted. "No…not once. She did mention that New York had some pretty handsome guys but she never mentioned a boyfriend…why?"

Mac had a feeling he was going to enjoy revealing this bit of information. He did feel like a teenager gossiping though. "You know Detective Flack that I introduced you to?"

"Flack. That grade A hunk of USDA prime man steak I met? Too bad he wasn't older, I could have given him a good run," Jo said with a twinkle in her eyes. She then noticed the smirk on her new boss's face and quickly connected the dots. She then returned the smirk and said, "Ah, let me guess, he's her beau?" Seeing Mac nod, she went on, "Well good for her. I'm not surprised she didn't tell me though."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Savannah cut in smoothly as she placed plates of food in front of them, "She offered to do a background check on any guy I hooked up with after the Wallace debacle. She said that she was going to basically dig up any dirt she could on the not so lucky guy."

"Not to mention send them an e-mail from an untraceable account that said 'the FBI are watching you,' you forgot that detail," Jo added with a wink. "So…you and Mr. Blue Eyes are a thing, huh missy?"

"We are," confirmed Savannah, pulling up a chair. "It's been about nine months…give or take a few weeks. He's been good to me, so no need to pull up everything about him including the kindergarten reports, Jo."

"Not that I was going to do it with Flack, he seems like a real good detective, but it's so fun to reveal that I can pull up that kind of stuff," Jo teased, making Savannah giggle.

Mac just looked from one woman to the other and saw past the slight physical resemblance, seeing to their personalities which were similar. Both warm, funny, and tough when needed. He had a feeling that if the two ever officially joined forces that their combined determination would definitely make them a challenge in anything. In short, if anyone ever tried to pull anything over on them, no one was safe. He was too busy thinking that a hand waving in front of his face startled him.

"Hello? Earth to Mac!" Savannah called.

"Sorry," he murmured. Both women were looking at him sceptically. "I'm good. Just thinking."

Jo leaned toward her second cousin and asked, "He do this a lot?"

"Only when he's tired," replied the younger woman, raising an eyebrow in question at her friend. "You better eat up Mac. If you aren't going home then at least eat."

"She's right you know," piped up the older woman. "Need to keep the engine of a detective fuelled."

Mac looked between them again. "Between you two I'm never going to get away with anything am I?"

"No," both sets of slightly Southern accented voices answered.

The older man raised his hands in surrender. He then picked up his fork and dug into the dish and held it up. "Okay then, I'm eating…what is this by the way?"

Savannah brightened and she eagerly answered, "It's something new I'm trying. I made rice in a risotto consistency with paprika and celery and then layered it with parmesan, capsicum, eggplant and mushrooms like a lasagne and baked it for 15 minutes. You guys are my guinea pigs to see if it worked."

After both CSI's tried it, they both praised her efforts and assured her of its excellent, home-style taste. Jo looked approving. "It is going to be so good to be able to eat your food more often," she remarked. "So…about Flack…what's he like? I know he's sharp and has got wit, but tell me more."

"Jo, I told you, he's great," Savannah answered simply.

Jo rolled her eyes and whispered, "That's not what I meant hon. You know…in bed."

"Jo!" Savannah exclaimed.

"I so do not need to hear this," Mac lamented from his seat.

"What? I'm 50 and haven't had much of a love life since my divorce. I need to live vicariously through others. Besides, your guy is one good-lookin' man," Jo justified, grinning. She then reached out and poked Savannah's red cheeks and murmured, "Must be 'great' as you say with cheeks like that."

"Not in the cafe!" whispered the brunette, her eyes darting from Mac to her. "Is this your way of punishing me for not telling you about my love life? Because if you have a real, pressing, absolute need to know, I can tell you some things over e-mail or in private, not here and definitely not in front of Mac."

"I second that," muttered Mac under his breath.

Jo just chuckled. "Oh you are always so fun. Okay, I promise not to ever tease you about your love life in the presence of other people," she promised.

"You better," cautioned Savannah with a cheeky glint in her eyes, "Or a packet of wasabi might just slip into the next dish I happen to make for you."

Both Mac and Jo winced. "That's cold, Cormier, cold," the older woman said.

"I learned from the best."

* * *

Lindsay Messer rushed around her apartment, chucking stray shoes into the laundry hamper to hide them and picking up the toys that lay scattered on the floor while her daughter watched in quiet fascination from her playpen. Lindsay despaired that with her luck, Lucy would be just as messy as her father as she got older – while sometimes she didn't mind, when she needed to get the place tidy in a hurry it was a major inconvenience. She quickly surveyed the main area and deemed it passable. At least the bathrooms were sparkling, and sometimes a clean bathroom made all the difference. She was just grabbing her bag to head into the lab when the knock she was expecting came at her door.

"NYPD in conjunction with Cafe babysitting services here for a Miss Lucy?"

Lindsay allowed herself a quick grin at Flack's usual humour and opened the door, looking gratefully at her friends. "Thank God you're here. The usual girl from next door is sick and I can't risk Lucy and-"

"Lindsay!" Savannah interrupted, coming forward and grabbing her shoulders, "It's fine. We know. We're fine with it, honestly."

"I know you say that, but you said that you were both looking forward to a date night for a while and I feel bad for dragging you away from that," the shorter woman replied with a troubled look on her face. She raked a hand through her short hair in frustration. "I tried to get a different shift but Mac needs me and Danny right now."

"Linds," Don said firmly, "Calm down, it's not the end of the world. You can't leave Lucy home alone and you can't bring her in. It's all good."

Lindsay still felt guilty. "I'll owe you guys one," she said.

Savannah waved her off. "You just worry about work. We'll take care of our favourite little girl." She then walked over to the playpen and picked up the smiling Lucy, settling her on her hip and tapping her nose. "Isn't that right Lucy? You tell your mama that you're going to have some fun tonight."

Lucy nodded and said, "I have fun with Auntie Anna and Unca Don!"

Lindsay chuckled at her daughter's adorable declaration before going over and kissing her forehead, murmuring, "You be a good girl, okay? Mommy will see you in the morning."

"Okay mama," replied Lucy.

Lindsay gave her one last kiss before briefly hugging Savannah and patting Don's shoulder before rushing out of the apartment. When she left, Don sighed and flopped on the couch, dropping the slight facade he had put up in front of Lindsay. Savannah gave him a half smile, sharing his disappointment. They had really been looking forward to going out. But Lucy needed them, and they couldn't abandon her and Lindsay. It would go against both their consciences. She took Lucy over to the couch and sat next to him, murmuring to the toddler, "I think Uncle Don needs a bit of cheering up, don't you think?"

Lucy looked up into her second most beloved Uncle's face and nodded. She then crawled out of Savannah's arms and into Don's, standing up on his thighs so she was closer to his face.

"Hey Lucy-Lu," Don murmured with a slight smile.

The little girl reached out and patted his cheeks. "Why you not happy Unca?"

"I'm just tired," Don replied, carefully supporting the little body with his hands.

In her childish manner, Lucy replied, "Why you not take nap? Feel better?"

Savannah hid her smile behind her hand as Don snorted with amusement. "I can't go to sleep yet kiddo. I gotta look after you. We gotta eat, watch a movie, and then we can go to sleep. Sound like a good idea to you?"

The dirty blonde head nodded vigorously. "Lucy think good."

Savannah didn't hide the smile this time, reaching out and stroking over the toddler's head. "Yes Luce, you do think good baby girl," she hummed.

They went to the dinner table after that, Savannah serving up the pasta with broccoli and bacon she had prepared earlier – causing Don to tease that she was trying to take Lucy over to the 'dark side' of liking vegetables. The brunette merely said that he and Danny could take their chances and get in trouble with Lindsay for giving Lucy too much pizza and hot dogs. The conversation went over the little girl's head as she demolished the plate and let out a cute little burp of appreciation. Seeing Don's vaguely proud look, Savannah asked, "You and Danny have been teaching her that, haven't you?"

"Yep," he replied unrepentantly.

"Linds is going to have your heads…I kinda like you with your head attached."

"So do I, so that's why I'm trying to teach her to say that 'Unca Mac' taught her."

"Ooh, diabolical," bantered Savannah, rolling her eyes. "I can't wait to see how that works out for you."

After dinner, Savannah went to bathe and change Lucy into her pyjamas while Flack quickly washed up and set up one of Lucy's favourite movies – The Lion King. The last time he had seen his 'niece' she had been singing in toddler babble 'Hakuna Matata.' When his girlfriend reappeared with Lucy, they all settled down to watch the move, Lucy cocooned between them on the couch. The little girl attempted valiantly to stay awake but the pull of sleep was too strong. Just after 'Hakuna Matata' had finished, she succumbed to the sweetness of her dreams.

Don was the first to notice Lucy's soft snores. He nodded to Savannah who quietly turned off the movie. Carefully, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her room and placed her in the bed Savannah had turned down earlier. Tucking her in, he murmured, "Nighty night Lucy." When he came out he noticed Savannah had switched it on to some TV show – looked like some legal drama. "She went down without a peep," he said to her.

"Good," the brunette replied, patting the couch. Don sat back down, gathering her into his arms and breathing in the scent of her hair.

"Anything you want to share about your day?" he asked.

Savannah paused and then decided to quote Jo's words. "I heard from your new co-worker at the Crime Lab that apparently you are a grade A piece of USDA man steak," she said nonchalantly.

Don spluttered, "What?!"

Savannah laughed, twisting so she could see the shock on his face. "Yep, Jo thinks you're one handsome guy."

"Did you tell her that I am completely, utterly, and _very_ taken?"

"Relax Don," Savannah replied, "She was just admiring your form. Besides…she wouldn't dare go beyond friendly teasing because not only is she older than you, but she's actually my second cousin on my father's side."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? No wonder some of her mannerisms reminded me of you – she's definitely going to be an asset to the NYPD. Wait…she's the one you mentioned…that second cousin you kept in touch through e-mail, right? Did she tell you she was moving up here as Stella's replacement?" he inquired curiously.

"Yes, yes, and no. She wanted it to be a surprise, and it certainly was to see her rock up to the cafe with Mac in tow. It was great to see her. She's a hoot," described the brunette, curling into her lover's side.

"She was pretty entertaining. She's definitely got a heck of a mind," agreed Don.

"Mmm…" Savannah yawned.

"You can go to sleep if you want to babe," Don said helpfully, picking up on her struggle with staying awake. "You mentioned having to get up at four this morning. You can have a quick little doze, I don't mind."

"Yeah, the catering for the Brooklyn animal welfare league party I had to get done so it was ready for tomorrow: the mini-pavlovas, Portuguese tarts, jambalaya, floured cauliflower I had to shallow fry, and meatballs. But you had a long hard day too," she mumbled in protest.

"Anna, I was fortunate enough not to run to many places today. I've been more tired before. Just rest will you?" he pointed out, threading his fingers through her hair.

"Pushy tonight."

"You spend so much time looking after other people you sometimes forget about yourself."

Savannah finally shut her eyes and smiled, safe in her love's arms.

* * *

**A/N: I had so much fun writing Jo. From what I've seen of her, she's hilarious. And I thought it'd be cute to have Lucy in here before I get into the real swing of the fic. Up next: Who's the other new girl in town?**

**Feedback is always wonderful to receive!**


	3. New Catalyst

**A/N: Thank you so much to Kayla, Smuffly, and JJ for your reviews. Your feedback is always special. I was worried that bringing Jo into the fic in such a fashion wouldn't pay off, but it evidently did. I've also decided to introduce conversations through technology, something I'm a bit concerned about, so let me know. Onto the next chapter! Enjoy. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Mild Swearing.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 3 – New Catalyst**

* * *

_That crazy chick  
Don't know who she's messin' with  
Look in her eyes  
She's mentally undressing him_

**Jordin Sparks – SOS (Let the Music Play)**

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Hey there.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Hi sugar. What's up?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don _

I'm starrrrrving.

* * *

_Text to: Don _

_From: Savannah_

And?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Babe…didn't you hear my stomach calling out from the precinct?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Translation – Savannah, the love of my life, could you please spare some precious seconds out of your very busy day to come and deliver some of that lovely stuff called food because I'm either too busy or just want to see you. Please with a cherry on top.

Am I right?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

:D

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

:p all right I'll be there soon.

* * *

Savannah sniggered to herself as she put her phone back into her pocket, going into the kitchen to prepare one of her boyfriends favourite sandwiches. Cajun schnitzel with aioli and a bit of lettuce and carrot. Once done, she went out the front and checked with Jacks if she was right to hold the fort. It had been steady that day – manageable if she had to leave. When her cousin winked at her and assured her it was fine, Savannah headed to the precinct. It always gave her such a good feeling walking in and greeting those she knew. They either visited her cafe or knew her because of her increasing visits to see Flack. Even the fact that suspects and witnesses were here didn't bother her.

After getting her ID tag from the front desk, Savannah peeked into the bullpen and saw Don sitting at his desk, looking up something or other on his computer. As she walked in, the atmosphere instantly changed as detectives looked up and called out greetings.

"Hey guys and girls," she replied to the room at large.

Detective Graham, one of Flack's closer detective buddies saw the familiar bag in her hands and groaned, "Aw, you gotta be kidding me. Flack, you do this just to make us jealous, I swear!"

"Hey, I'm hungry!" he replied, but grinned at Savannah as she came towards him and dropped the bag on his desk. "Hey Savannah."

"Graham does have a point. You have been getting me to drop off food more often recently," remarked the brunette as she pulled up a spare chair so she could talk to him easier. At his sheepish look, Savannah just giggled and asked, "So how's your day so far?"

"Same old, same old. Much better now I've got this," Don replied, tearing into the bag and making a noise of appreciation when he saw the filling of the roll. "Oh yeah."

"You are a slave to food, sugar," said Savannah.

"Only to yours. You wouldn't know why, would you?"

"No idea. Can't be because the food is good, that'd be obvious," commented the brunette, playing on, both of them sharing a look of amusement.

"Yeah, that might be obvious," Don replied, taking a big bite out of the meal and briefly closing his eyes to savour it. He so loved it that Savannah would put in the effort just because he asked and because it was in her nature to be generous in everything she did. "This is great, I've been so hungry. I had hoped that you weren't too busy."

"It was fine. And you know Jacks, she thinks I work too hard so she's constantly trying to get me out the door," shrugged Savannah.

"Speaking of working too hard…I finish early on the 25th so we can finally have that date night we've been wanting if you can manage to lock up on time or get someone to close up. What do you think? We'll go to that Spanish restaurant you like so much on 5th avenue," suggested Don hopefully. While it was nice to see her during the day (and having fun between the sheets at night when they could get there), they hadn't gone on a proper night out for almost a month. Last attempt had been ditched due to the babysitting of Lucy. And he really, really, wanted to do something a little more special than take out or dinner at each other's places. "Look, I'll even dance with you," he tempted.

Savannah grinned at him, lighting up in that special way around him that made Don happier in turn by seeing it. "Of course. Sounds good to me, I'll see if we can push to be done by 5 on the dot," she nodded.

Don gave her a quick grin in return. "Great."

Savannah's eyes softened as she took in his boyishly handsome face and felt excited for the night coming up. She was about to reach out and grasp his hand when the obstinately loud sound of heels clacking caught her attention. She looked up as a woman with bright flaming red hair strutted up to the desk opposite Flack's, a sour expression on her face. And she was staring right at Savannah.

"Detective Flack, is this woman bothering you? Is she a suspect that you need me to lock up?" the woman asked, getting her handcuffs out.

Savannah was taken aback by the attitude and laughed softly while Don shook his head. "No, it's fine Waverly."

"Oh. Then what the hell is she doing here?" the redhead demanded, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

Don frowned at the new detective's rudeness, quickly darting a glance at Savannah to see a matching frown on her face, only hers was in confusion. "Maybe I should clue you in. Detective Kirsti Waverly, this is my girlfriend, Savannah. Savannah, this is Detective Waverly, she's new to the unit," he introduced, watching both women closely. Kirsti had only been on the desk in front of his for the past two days and she seemed okay. Until now.

Instantly, Kirsti's demeanour changed. Almost too quickly and she smiled, showing perfectly white and straight teeth as her deep blue – almost violet – eyes widened in realisation. "Oh, how _sweet_. I'm so sorry," she simpered, reaching forward and bending down, taking Savannah's hand and shaking it. "Hi there. Detective Flack didn't mention a girlfriend, so I thought…"

"Yeah, we heard what you thought," Anna replied easily, hiding her true emotions. She quickly appraised the new detective. About 5'4 at best guess, she had the tiniest waist and big breasts that seemed to want to pop out of the low cut top. In addition to the skyscraper boots, was this really appropriate detective apparel? Regardless, the cafe owner resolved to see the best in everyone and smiled back. "Where are you from Kirsti? Did you just get your detective badge?" she asked politely.

"No, I got my badge at 24 and I've been doing Vice for the past two years," the younger woman said snobbishly. "But I've just transferred from Atlantic City."

"Nice to meet you, welcome to New York," the brunette replied.

"Yeah, I've gotten that a few times."

"Detective Waverly is going to be working with me, Graham, and Scagletti," Don added.

As Kirsti clacked over to her side of the desks, Savannah murmured, "Oh that's cool. She couldn't have gotten better mentors really."

Flack gave a half smile. "Yeah, well, it'll be interesting working with a partner again."

Kirsti looked between the couple craftily and then said, "Don't worry Hannah, I'll watch his back."

Don opened his mouth to reprimand her but Savannah beat him to the punch calmly. "First of all, that's disrespecting someone who is going to be working with you by assuming that he can't look after himself and that he is incompetent. Don't let your CO catch you saying things like that," she stated coolly. "And second of all," she stood as she spoke, "My name is Savannah Cormier. It'd serve you well to remember your manners."

Kirsti was quiet and then looked genuinely apologetic as she mumbled, "Sorry."

"You might have been a big fish in a little pond, but in New York, you're the little fish now," Flack warned sagely.

"Of course Detective Flack."

Savannah turned back to him and pushed aside her gut instinct to gently squeeze her lover's shoulder. "Enjoy lunch. I might see you later, I might not. Don't lose your head," she whispered to him so Kirsti couldn't hear.

"Never," promised Don.

Savannah left after that, fixing her usual cheery smile as she walked out of there. It wasn't until she was in the car that she let the smile drop and she couldn't push aside her instincts anymore. While it could have just been a very bad first impression, there was something that was so off about Kirsti Waverly. Like her real objective for being a detective wasn't to see justice served. Her motivation came from a different place to most. And then, what she looked like...Kirsti was definitely genetically blessed, with that Hollywood style body and eyes and hair and teeth – Savannah fingered a limp curl and momentarily despaired over the BBQ sauce stains on her dark jeans and the pink frosting dots from making cupcakes on her blue shirt where the apron hadn't covered it. She suddenly felt very unpolished in comparison.

"Get a grip," she scolded herself, starting the engine with a determined air. "You can only be you. People come in all shapes and sizes, and you have a wonderful guy who loves you the way you are." Feeling stronger after the pep talk, Savannah drove off back to the cafe. She had customers to take care of and bring joy to in their lives for the moments that they were in her shop.

* * *

Don scrubbed a hand over his eyes. He had no idea how the AV lab techs and Adam Ross managed to stare at computers for hours on end and not get square eyes. More than a few hours gave him a little headache at the front of his head and drove him nuts. At least all the necessary searches were done and he could run the needed files up to the lab before clocking off for the day. As he collected the files, he noticed the new detective, Waverly, looking at him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"You know, to make up for being a bitch earlier, I can run those if you like," she offered.

Don shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but it's fine. I need to go speak to some people at the lab anyway," he replied. He then nodded to her and exited the precinct, feeling as though someone was watching him intensely as he left. He didn't look back. It could have just been some random witness or suspect.

When he got to the lab, he spotted Mac and the new woman, Jo, in his office, and headed there. Knocking briefly on the door, he waited for Mac's nod before heading in. "Got the information you requested on Harry Leeks, Ronald Irving and Miranda Hocking. Anything else I can do for you before I skedaddle out of here?"

Jo nodded and then gestured for him to shut the door. When he did, she asked, "You know that new girl, Waverly, in your department?"

"Yeah, what about her?"

Jo and Mac glanced at each other and the woman continued, "You notice anything like the fact she was a bit…well, brusque? We worked a case with her this morning and she was a bit unsympathetic to the victim's family."

Don pulled a face of irritation. "Yeah, she's a bit arrogant, but I think that's partly because of her eagerness. Anna and I set her straight when Anna dropped off lunch for me, so hopefully she'll get her head in the game. I'll watch out for it when we're partnered up," he said.

"Good, good," nodded Mac. "So, Anna was dropping off lunch, huh?"

"You taking advantage of the fact she's got a cafe all the time?" Jo chipped in with a tiny smirk at the younger detective.

"Yep, I know, you can all be very jealous," Flack countered. He held out his hands in a 'what can I do?' gesture. "Besides, she won't do it if she's busy."

Mac just shook his head in amusement while Jo said, "Good. Because if I hear so much as a whisper that you are tripping her guilt trip I'll show you just how good I am at pulling up information on people."

"Trust me, my mother has embarrassed me enough by showing Savannah every photo of me under the sun. Whatever you can pull up on me won't even compare to it," replied Flack. He then shrugged at Jo's slightly crestfallen look.

"Damn," she muttered.

"Flack, you better run before she thinks up something," Mac suggested wryly.

"Will do. Enjoy your nights. And Mac…you better get some sleep so Savannah doesn't comment on it when you see her next," cautioned Flack knowingly. As he turned and walked towards the elevators, he smirked when he heard Jo tell Mac, "I _told_ you that people can tell!"

* * *

**A/N: Well…what did you think of the new detective and everyone's reactions to her? It's a little obvious that she's not to be friends with Savannah...but as for the rest of the fic, just wait and see :D**

**Please review. They do assure me I'm following a good track. **


	4. Talk with a side of Decomp

**A/N: You guys…always make me smile, especially when I look back over a chapter and think 'should I have done that? Did it hit right?' So thank you all so much: Smuffly, Kayla, Leslie Emm and JJ. Kirsti seems to have made quite the impression on you all. Onward to a slice of life from Don's point of view. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Mild swearing, mentions of dead bodies and body fluids of all kinds.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 4 – Talk with a side of Decomp**

* * *

_I hate to look into those eyes_

_And see an ounce of pain_

_Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place_

_Where as a child I'd hide_

**Guns 'n' Roses – Sweet Child of Mine**

* * *

**Don POV**

I have come to really appreciate the humble lunchtime break. Especially when it comes to me getting some of Anna's food. And especially when it's a late break due to the usual merry band of idiots that happen to pass through my day delaying it until about 3 in the afternoon. I have snacks of course (which sane person wouldn't?) but it's just not the same as sitting down somewhere and enjoying yourself.

Entering her cafe is seriously one of the big highlights of my day. Along with clearing scumbags off the streets, but on a more personal level this is way more uplifting.

It's not busy, which usually means either it's been a slow day all round or they had a large rush earlier. As I enter, Jacks waves at me. "Hey Don," she calls out cheerily. "You here for a quick stop or a sitting down?"

"Sitting down," I reply, scanning the place and not seeing the usual form of my girlfriend. Every other member of her staff is out here, which is definitely not usual. "She in the kitchen?"

Jacks doesn't even have to ask what I mean. "Yep, but she might throw something if you startle her. She was cursing up a storm earlier at the oven – I think she mentioned something about it not heating up enough to make her baked shrimp dish, so she's checking it out," the shorter woman supplied helpfully. I give her a quick smile and peek into the kitchen.

I instantly have to bite my tongue at the sight so I don't laugh.

Savannah is kneeling on the floor, her head in the oven, and like Jacks said, cursing up a storm.

"Stupid…well no wonder it doesn't get so hot…carbon build up…good thing I already fired that motherfucker a month ago or else I'd have his head!"

She is so funny when she's angry and she swears. Because it's just not like her. I place my hand over my mouth – biting the tongue isn't going to work – and discreetly enjoy the view of Savannah's denim glad ass on tantalising display. She's wearing that tight black t-shirt with the Maroon 5 logo on both sides that we got when we saw their concert last month. Damn that's sexy. She makes me want to take her home and go at it until we're exhausted. I've told her once, I've told Anna a hundred times, I'm addicted to her.

"Fucking idiot…couldn't even clean a fucking oven…"

Oh. She's still going. No wonder she's the only one in here and the rest of her staff are hanging out front like there's a plague in here. Might as well make myself known. Softly, I open the door wide and let the hinges squeak before knocking on the door. "Hey babe," I greet cheerily.

She jerks up, narrowly avoiding from hitting her head on the top of the oven and huffs at me. "Hi. You've managed to catch me when I'm in less of a sparkling mood."

"I can see that."

Savannah raises that warning eyebrow and I merely grin back at her, knowing the effect it usually has. And like clockwork, before long, she sighs and gives me a little affectionate smile back. I offer her a hand, which she takes and rises before hugging me to her. I wrap my own arms around her tight. I like it when her problems can be solved with a bit of personal contact. "You reckon you can stop abusing that oven long enough to get a lunch break with me?" I ask quietly.

The brunette curls I love so much bounce as she nods, and she pulls away. "Yeah, okay. What do you feel like?"

"Whatever is easiest for you Savannah," I assure her. She nods, leans up to brush her lips against mine and waves me off. As I go back outside, I murmur to Jacks – who was waiting expectantly – "Bomb diffused."

"Total lifesaver," she said, winking at me and passing me a coffee.

I sit at my usual table and wait for Anna to come out, checking my messages. There's a few. One from Jo that the DNA on a murder case I'm working on from Battery Park has come up with nothing on CODIS, and the other from Danny that a suspect on another case from the Bronx has a perfect alibi. Fan-freaking-tastic. Looks like after lunch there won't be much hope of getting out of the precinct on time. Oh well. As long as nothing messes up the planned date night Savannah and I are having in two days, then bring on the overtime.

A plate appeared in front of me full of steak and chips.

God I love this woman. She always seems to know exactly what I need. It smells incredible. I grin at her as she sits opposite with her own plate with a salad. "Not hungry?" I inquire.

"I had a chicken sandwich earlier. You go on and eat up, you look like you need it," Savannah said, tucking stray hairs back into her ponytail.

"I do. Nothing is going right on my cases today," I inform her.

"Nothing?"

"Chasing dead leads. It's all going nowhere, so I thought I'd come and take a break and come back at it later with fresher eyes." I pause to practically inhale some of the steak I'm so hungry, and go on, "Besides, I wanted to see you. I didn't get to in the past few days, so you're looking good to me."

"I kinda missed you too," Savannah admitted, tilting her head to the side as she took me in, those green-grey eyes alight on mine. "But we have Saturday night coming up, and we can take all the time in the world when we're finished with work. Including our favourite extra-curricular activities in your bed."

I love the way she thinks too. It will be _so _good to wake up with her the next morning. Smirking at her, I ask, "Any special requests?"

It's something we've been doing. A little experimentation. If we both want to try something, we'll give it a go. Last time she asked me, we had a rather interesting night with a pair of my handcuffs. And the time before that, around my birthday in January, we ended up finding out that doing it in front of a fireplace with the fire going was one pretty awesome erotic experience. Although I can't look at that patch of carpet in Savannah's apartment without smiling like an idiot.

Savannah looks a little sly about something before she purrs softly, "Well, I was thinking that instead of having dessert at Mar Salado, I could make some chocolate mousse and we could eat it off each other."

I am suddenly very glad that the place is mostly empty and no one is around to hear this conversation. While the idea is hot…"That reminds me of sploshing," I reply, pulling a slight face.

"What the heck is sploshing?" she asks with this adorable look of bewilderment.

"Er…it was a case I was working about a year and a half back. People, who either kind of know each other or don't know each other at all eat food off each other's almost naked bodies and they call it a sploshing party." Savannah pulled a face and I'm pretty sure I have a matching one on my own face. "And they didn't just go with stuff like cream and flavoured syrups; I'm talking pasta and meatballs."

"Okay, that's just wrong. Strangers doing this stuff…Chocolate syrups, fair enough, but _pasta_? Yeah, I'm with you on that front. Gross. I can so understand why you're reluctant to try this out then," she says, shrugging, but I can see a vaguely disappointed look in her eyes.

I quickly hasten to let her know, "Yeah, I'm a little bit reluctant, but if it's with you at home or whatever, I don't mind trying it out. Besides, if I don't like what we're doing, that chocolate mousse won't go to waste, that I assure you. That stuff is too good not to eat." Perceptively, Savannah brightens again and I realise she really wanted to try it. Food is her thing, so I'm actually surprised that she hasn't suggested something like this before. Hey, I'm open to it, it's freaky shit like tying your significant other up to resemble furniture so they can get off that I can't really understand.

A new customer enters the shop, and Savannah momentarily starts before one of the regular serving girls waves her off and takes care of the order. Her attention is on the customer though even as she goes back to her food. I can tell. She's listening to see if she needs to do anything. She relaxes just slightly when the order concludes and it means that she can stay down with me a little longer. I recognise the woman, she's a regular and has been in here before.

Instead of going off to another table, the woman comes over to our table.

"Miss Savannah," she says to Anna, who looks up and gives her a warm smile.

"Mrs. Baker, how are you?"she asks kindly.

"Oh I'm good dear, I'll be even better after one of your muffins," the mid-50's blonde replies. "What about you? You two moved in yet?"

I'm not surprised that Anna's regulars recognise me – I've been coming in here that often and I've been openly demonstrative with her. But I am surprised that she asked about our relationship. I'm not bothered by it, but by the sudden tightening in Savannah's smile clues me in to how she feels.

Crap.

"I think that's none of your business," she answers quietly in a warning tone.

Mrs. Baker didn't seem to detect it, so I'm here to enjoy the show.

"Oh but you two always seem so good together," Mrs. Baker blathered on, looking between us. "Much like my son and his wife."

"Mrs. Baker, no disrespect, but what happens in my personal life is really none of your business. I don't ask if that 45 year old lawyer has left his wife for you yet, and so I expect you to do the same courtesy for me. That's between me and Don," Savannah counters in an icy tone – even I can feel it.

Whoa. I didn't expect her to be this prickly about the subject.

Mrs. Baker looked as stunned as I felt, backing away from Savannah's pointed gaze. "Oh…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"Please don't do so ever again."

As the abashed Mrs. Baker runs off to a seat on the far side of the room, I turn to the brunette opposite me and put forward hypothetically, "So a guy is at lunch talking to his girlfriend when suddenly mentioned girlfriend snaps at someone else for inquiring whether they've moved in together. What does this guy do? Stay silent in the hopes that mentioned girlfriend will explain or does he run for a cup before running for the hills?"

Savannah turns her glare on me before she sighs, aggravated. "It's not you, it's just that it feels like I'm getting asked that question every second day by _someone_. I think it's a little personal, don't you?" she asks empathically.

"Yes it is, but no need to bite her head off because everyone else has asked," I return mildly.

"So it didn't bother you?"

"Not really. I've asked, you've said no, and that's the end of it," I reply. It's true, I did ask Savannah to move in with me just after New Years, but she nicely told me that she thought it was too soon. And you know, I can live with that, it's all about giving Savannah the choice. While it might have been much more convenient to live together (24 hour access to each other anyone?) if it was too soon for Anna then it could have messed up our relationship – and I really don't want that to happen.

"Don," Savannah murmured, taking my hand, "It's not that I don't want to, but-"

"Relax, I know your reasons. Don't worry. When you want to, you want to, and then we'll make like a Disney film and live happily ever after."

The comment pulls a smile from her and it appears like her usual warmth is restored. She looks over at a subdued Mrs. Baker and I can practically hear her conscience encourage her to fix the problem. Anna looks back at me, tilting her head, and I nod, releasing her hand. Gracefully she stands, going over to the cabinet and pulling out the biggest muffin she has before warming it up and heading towards Mrs. Baker's table. I can't hear their conversation, but Savannah looks remorseful and the older woman looks a bit more open.

While that was easy to fix, something about what Savannah said stuck with me. She said it feels like _everyone_ has been asking her. It's odd that she hasn't told me about it. I mean, ever since her kidnapping we've been pretty open with most things – I, of course, can't tell her details of ongoing cases and she doesn't tell me about the occasional customer who likes to perv on her or the girls so that my protective side doesn't go after them – but there isn't a reason why she wouldn't have told me that people are bothering her.

Well, actually, yes there is a reason.

Pride and independence.

She's got this thing about being strong. And I understand that. It took me ages before I could really talk to anyone about Jess, and even then I didn't reveal it all. But when we've pretty much told each other about practically everything in our lives, I don't see the need for it. She's got me. She trusts me and yet she still has this stubborn need to be independent.

Not a bad trait to have, really. However, when it hurts her, I think it backfires. I know that way too well.

I finish off my meal just as my phone buzzes. I check the display, holding in a groan. Fantastic. A new dead body all for me. Reluctantly, I head over to let Savannah know. It's a token of how well we know each other that as soon as she sees my face, she knows why I have to leave. She mutters an 'excuse me' to Mrs. Baker and meets me at the door. "Go get 'em tiger," she whispers to me.

"You know me," I shrug. I lean down and capture her lips briefly, knowing that it will have to be enough to sustain me until Saturday night. She is so sweet, so soft, and makes me want. Damnit. I have to leave and I just don't feel like looking at another dead body. As I pull back, Savannah's hand slides down to rest over my heart, and she says, "Just a few more days."

"I know. Bye, have a nice day." I'm abrupt. I have to be or else I'll end up kissing her again.

She waves goodbye as I head out.

As I head back into Manhattan, I slowly let all that good feeling filter out and draw on my detective focus. I'm one of those people, it's a bit like flicking a switch. I can go in and out of work mode fairly easily because I'm dedicated. I head to the Gramercy address and spot the first officer on scene with no trouble. Because he's puking his guts out into a trashcan.

Great. That either means it's a fairly brutal scene or there's decomp.

I pull up and walk over to him. I recognise him as Officer Mitchell. "Hey Mitchell…oof, you had a bean burrito for lunch didn't you?" I ask him. I have spent too many of my rookie days vomiting up the same thing not to know the stench.

"Urgh…yep. But it was so good at the time," he groans, before burying his head in the bin again, and I turn away as I hear the sick splatter. It's a testament to my own strong stomach that my own food stays settled and happy in there and isn't decorating the pavement. I look up at the ramshackle building – it's the exact address. "So…which apartment?"

"1C. And Flack…cover your nose when you get in there," Mitchell advises.

Shit, it's decomp. Oh well, that's the way the ball bounces. At least I'm not a CSI, they actually have to sift through the vic's pockets and collect the evidence, which means getting into those juices. I go into the building and see a man, probably the super, standing in front of a door labelled 1C at the end of the hallway. He looks faintly green but at least has the sense to hold a handkerchief in front of his face. As I approach him, I can see why Mitchell was heaving into the bin…or rather, smell why. Grimacing, I pull my own hanky out and make a mental note to thank Savannah for spraying it with my deodorant. She knows I don't use hanky's except for decomp scenes. I show the man my badge and he nods. Guess he doesn't want to speak for fear he'll sick up. As he opens the door, I slowly walk in, and I see the body on the opposite side of the cheap wooden table. I don't go in further – the place reeks and I can see the puffiness of the skin and the discolouration.

It's definitely so wrong.

But one thing I do notice is that it's really hot in here. There's a humming, and a look to see the heater on confirms it.

"Geez Flack, when was the last time you took a shower?"

"Funny, Danville, I was about to ask you the same thing, but it could also be you ate bad Indian last night."

"What on Earth did I do to end up with you two jokers?" Hawkes asks as he steps past me and Jo to get closer to the body. He gloves up and goes to check the pants pocket of the vic. As he does, he brushes the skin and there's a sound like a tyre loosing air rapidly, more of the foul liquid puddling to the ground.

"It's a juicy one," I quip.

Both CSI's give me a deadpan look. I shrug. I have to find the humour in this somewhere.

Hawkes straightens, looks down at the body and shakes his head, frowns, "Hell of a thing. Haven't had a decomp in a while."

"Because winter slowed down the process," Jo adds.

It makes sense. We usually get more decomposed bodies in summer, so winter is definitely a welcome reprieve. But unfortunately, this room has been just as hot as a summer day. Ergo, decomp juice. "Mitchell cleared the scene but sacrificed his lunch to do it so you guys do your thing. I'll see who's the owner of this place, might give us an ID," I told them.

The CSI's nod and I go back out to talk to the super and also the neighbours to see if they saw or heard anything unusual. Like always, I get maybe one or two things useful and a whole lot of nothing. When I return, the ME's have transferred the body into one of their heavy duty body bags and Hawkes has got a wallet in his hand.

"I hope that wallet says that vic is Herman Lobowitz, 57, renting out the place," I state.

"Yep. That's our vic, we almost couldn't tell from the amount of degradation to his face," Sheldon replies, showing me the licence. He looks around and then holds up an evidence canister. "I found a shell casing once the body was lifted – Sid should be able to confirm if COD was from a gunshot wound."

"Good. Can you estimate TOD, doc?"

"Due to the heat in the room and the rate of decomposition, I'd say anywhere from a week to two weeks," he replied.

"Well, the woman in 1A says she heard shouting about 11 days ago. It was between Mr. Lobowitz and a high pitched male voice." I check my notes as I read aloud, and go on, "And the man in 2C says that, and I quote, 'the blasted classical namby pamby finally stopped.'"

Hawkes gives me an odd look, but Jo's reappearance in the room gets our attention.

"You might want to come and have a look at this," she mentions, beckoning us with a crooked finger. We do, and she throws open a set of double doors to reveal…

"Whoa," murmurs Sheldon.

"Who on earth needs more than one violin?" I throw out there, mentally counting in my head the amount of instruments. "This guy has enough to make his own orchestra."

"There are actually violas, cellos, and double basses as well as violins," Hawkes informed us.

"Thank you walking Wikipedia," I reply sardonically, getting a unimpressed look from the male CSI while Jo grins at me. "I'll do some research and find out why Mr. Lobowitz has just so many of these. And who had the motive to kill him. I'll look into the neighbour in 2C because he mentioned the music."

* * *

Another day almost over. None of my cases but the Lobowitz case are going anywhere. We've hit dead ends on everything else, so it's good to know that we've got a few suspects and I'm just waiting on Jo and Sheldon to do their science-y thing to confirm whose boxes I should break.

A quick look at the clock tells me I've racked up overtime again. It's close to ten at night, and me, Waverly, and O'Reilly are the only ones in the bullpen. I know that Graham will be coming in soon to hold the fort until morning. The new chick, Waverly, at least is working hard. Scagletti gave her a lot of forms to fill out – I guess that's his form of mentoring (haha, I'm so funny). I know it'll be my turn soon to work with her, so I hope she's up to scratch.

An e-mail pops into my inbox.

I click on it, and I smile.

Savannah must have sent it off before heading to bed – it's a picture of a monkey hanging on to a rope with the words "_When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hold on – Franklin Roosevelt."_ She knows me too well.

I quickly write off a reply.

* * *

To: savannah_cormier hotmail . com

From: det. d. flack. nypd. com

RE: You

Are frickin' amazing. How'd you know I was still here? Cos I needed it.

Sleep well babe,

-Don.

* * *

As it goes, I finish up on the needed background checks on all the people in my cases. By the time I'm done and head home after clocking off, it's past 11. God, I'm tired. Times like these I really wish Savannah had agreed to move in with me. I can only dream about coming home and curling up beside her in bed.

Saturday. I just have to wait until Saturday to get a taste.

* * *

**A/N: So…what did you think of Don's inner thoughts? I'd love to know your thoughts..on his thoughts. :D Argh, I've got sploshing on the brain!**


	5. Dinner and Suspicion

**A/n: Thank you so much to those who review, alert, and favourite this fic. To see so much support is always exciting. To Smuffly, Leslie Emm, Kayla, and JJ, you guys rock my world! Keep up those awesome reviews. In this chapter, I start to stir the waters a bit more. :D**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Acts of a sexual nature, not overly explicit. Very implied.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 5 – Dinner and Suspicion**

* * *

_Well by now I'm getting all bothered and hot  
When he kissed my mouth he really hit the spot  
He had lips like sugar cane, oh!  
Good things come to boys who wait_

**Christina Aguilera - Candyman **

* * *

It was _finally_ Saturday.

Don had practically flown out of the precinct at 3.30pm, exiting the back way just to make sure that no one was going to keep him from his goal. He had gone home, showered and tidied up (and good thing he had too, he had been a little lazy lately and he had left dirty socks and other shit everywhere). He had stripped his bed, put new, disposable sheets on, and bought a bunch of jasmine from the nearest corner florist. If the chocolate mousse idea didn't work, he was thinking of maybe running the flowers over Savannah's skin.

Just to show off his romantic side.

One thing he hadn't counted on was having to wear a tie to go out to dinner at Mar Salado. It was a semi-fancy kind of place and he had usually worn a tie. But as he flicked through the multitude that he had to go with his blue dress shirt, his mind kept replaying exactly where each tie had been on Savannah's body that night he had come to find her covered in them. He couldn't wear the blue striped one because that one had tied her left hand to the bed and the grey tie had been draped across a nipple…every single tie had some kind of memory attached to it. Then he saw the skinny black tie buried in the back of his closet. No memory trigger. Good, maybe he could use that one.

Flack was just tying it up when the trigger finally happened and the tips of his ears burned red. He remembered where the black one had been. Tied in a bow and placed in front of…

"Oh fuck it," he grumbled, tearing it off and chucking it back into the wardrobe and flicking the top button of his shirt open. He would go tie-less. It was a Spanish restaurant after all.

By the time he was ready, it was 5.45. Perfect. The reservation was at 6.30 so by the time he got to Savannah's and then headed off, they should be there right on time.

Knocking on Savannah's door fifteen minutes later, Don used the key he had and entered, grinning as Savannah stepped out of the hallway in a short green halter dress that was tight to her thighs before flowing in a loose layer to a few inches above her knees. The silver heels made her legs look longer than ever.

"Eyes up here Donny boy," Savannah teased, sauntering towards him and blinking up coquettishly at him.

"Your legs are driving me to distraction," he replied.

"You can paint them with mousse later," she offered, going over to the table and holding up the mini-cooler. "It's in here with heaps of ice so it should be nice and cold later."

"Stop giving me ideas," Don whined, "Or else we won't make the reservation."

"You aren't getting out of taking me to dinner that easy. Now come on, I've been looking forward to their paella all week."

Flack held open the door and took her arm in his. "I've turned my phone off, told everyone that I'm non-contactable until tomorrow noon at the latest, and I've left any thoughts about suspects, witnesses, decomp juice and blood back at the precinct. It's just you and me tonight Anna," he told her.

The green-grey eyes sparkled in delight. Her fingers threaded with his and she said, "All in all, a perfect night."

Dinner had passed in a highly enjoyable fashion with mass amounts of flirting from either side of the table over the paella and Castilian rack of beef that composed their dinner. Afterwards after paying they went to the small, secluded and dimly lit dance floor in an adjacent room, doing a slow basic rumba – a dance that hid Flack's inclination to be a bit of a dork while dancing. Heat grew, the tension running tight between them only straining with the pent up desire from not having a proper outlet for release for a while. Still, it was a game to the two of them to see how long they would last before succumbing to their mutual need. Dancing close, lips almost touching, was a turn on and a tease. Savannah was the one to tip the balance, pulling away and heading for the exit with amorous green eyes. Don followed, drawn like a moth to a flame. Outside he found her leaning alluringly against the car, and compulsion gripped him. Mouths found each other heatedly as the boundaries of their patience were pushed.

A roaming hand trailing under the hem of the dress, caressing the firm, warm skin, brought them back to reality.

They separated and Don thought that the sight of Savannah's face, eyes more green than grey and cheeks flushed from passion was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

"You, me, and that chocolate mousse. Now," she murmured lowly.

Don's blue eyes darkened with desire and he replied, "Absolutely."

The ride back to Flack's apartment was silent, not trusting themselves not to flirt with each other to extend the sweet torture. Once there, they headed to the bedroom where clothes were shed with familiar dexterity, the pure sensation of being able to feel skin against skin exhilarating. Don thanked whatever deity out there that he had the sense to put a disposable sheet over his bed – which came in handy when the chocolate mousse was eventually brought out and used in all manner of inventive ways.

Don ended up finding he didn't mind this idea at all, and would be all too willing to try it again.

Savannah had taken great pleasure in the foreplay of painting his tall, muscular frame – using him like a blank canvas – with the sweet chocolate before achingly slowly licking and sucking it all off of him. The game continued, seeing how long they could resist their baser instincts. She in turn had writhed and moaned when her lover had returned the favour. It was messy and sticky and perfumed the air, but it was fun, it was exciting.

At last, they gave in, finally reaching for the pleasure that had eluded them both in recent weeks.

Fingers wound through curled hair as soft moans and cries tore from Savannah's mouth, her body shaking as Don connected with her, the rhythm of their bodies in sync. They were propelled towards climax together, until the control eventually broke and release took them for a wild, ecstasy filled ride. Mouths opened to pant to cool down and they held each other close, not caring how hot and sticky their bodies were. Musk, chocolate, and the faint scent of jasmine wrapped around their sense of smell, they could feel each other's skin, the texture of the sheets, could hear the soft sighs and heavy breathing, see the other satisfied and fulfilled knowing this is what they needed.

Don slowly rolled to the side, Savannah following and resting her head against his shoulder. They were too spent for speech. The brunette laid a hand to rest over his chest, stroking in small, soft circles and being content just to listen to his heart beat, strong and steady in her ear. Goosebumps decorated her skin when his own hand came to caress along the sensitive skin of her back.

After a little while, Savannah looked up to see her lover looking down at her with a little smirk on his face. "Did we ever need that," he murmured.

"Mmm…I think I almost enjoyed it more than you did," she replied. "Nice to see there's another great use for that wicked tongue of yours Don."

"I could say the same about you," he flirted back.

"Cheeky," Savannah purred, stretching and letting a smile grace her lips. "Oooh…I'll be feeling that tomorrow."

"Didn't go too rough did I?"

"Are you kidding? I loved every bit of it. It's a good kind of ache with you, always," she assured Don as his usual concern came out. She leaned up and kissed him tenderly and then carefully rolled off the bed, giggling as she looked down at the debauched bed sheets. "You're going to need to throw those out."

"Good thing they're disposable…and just where would you be going?" Don asked with a heated gaze on the curves of her body.

"Shower. As much fun as it was being your personal chocolate pop, I'm all sticky in places that wouldn't normally be after sex and I'd like to feel fresh again."

"I think I might join you," Don said in a distinctively seductive tone.

Savannah's smile widened. "Don't mind if you do."

* * *

Sleeping in when you were a detective was a rare thing. It was practically a commodity. Which is why it was so good for Don to wake up at almost 9 the next morning with the form of Anna in his arms. She was still asleep, her curls messy and still a little damp from their late night shower but a slight smile made her look radiant even while slumbering peacefully away. His fingers idly played with the ends of her hair as he thought about her.

It was mornings (and sometimes afternoons) like these which made having separate lives easier to deal with. With both of them being busy at work recently and with other things just popping up, it felt like they hadn't gotten a lot of quality time lately.

A slight groan alerted the blue eyed man to his sleeping beauty's awakening.

"Nnngh…what time is it?" Savannah mumbled against his chest.

"A bit before nine. Go back to sleep, you don't have to be up yet," he replied.

"You just say that so you can sneak out of bed to make me breakfast," she countered sleepily, yawning.

"I plead the fifth," Don joked, kissing her cheek and slowly edging out of the bed as she grumbled but dozed off. He quickly got changed and headed out to his kitchen. It had become a little something of a routine. If Savannah happened to spend the night at his place, he would make breakfast (because she happened to like sleeping after such a long bout of making love) and if he stayed over at Savannah's, they would usually go to her cafe. Although today he cheated a little, grabbing some pre-made pancake mix out of the fridge.

By the time he had finished making all the pancakes, a pair of arms slipped around his waist and a husky feminine voice said, "Morning, stud."

"Stop sexy talking me."

Savannah giggled and nuzzled against his shoulder blade. "Pancakes. Yummy. I'll set the table."

When Don turned around, he noticed that Savannah had gotten dressed in her own clothes – a set of demure jeans and a black blouse – and was a bit disappointed. She spotted it and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I like it better when you dress in nothing but one of my shirts," he pouted.

"I know you like it because it usually ends up with me getting worked over on the table or the bench or the couch…just worked over by you," the brunette replied wryly at Don's seemingly innocent look. "And as much as I would love to sugar, I have to be at the cafe by 11 – something which won't happen if I dress in nothing but a shirt in the morning."

"Aww, killjoy."

Savannah shook her head and smiled as she set the table.

Because Don didn't have to be at the precinct until noon, they took their time through breakfast and getting ready for the day. They went into the cafe a little earlier so the ever hungry Flack could pinch a few choc-chip cookies from the cake cabinet before heading off to do his detective duties. He left whispering in Savannah's ear about how much he wanted to replay last night again – leaving her blushing in the middle of the cafe.

* * *

Savannah straightened up the 'closed' sign and waved goodbye to Paula and Maddie as they left after their shifts. It was 2.30 and they had closed up on time, and now all she had to do was count the takings for the day.

She was jealous of those out there in the beautiful sunshine streaming through her front windows and resolved to take a walk around Central Park when she finished up.

With the fine weather as her motivation, the cafe owner tucked herself behind the til and did the normal routine of counting the money. When she finished, Savannah looked down at the bunch of fives in her hands. No, she must have counted wrong. So she counted again. And the end result was still $120 under what the receipt from the electronic til had totalled as the days takings. Puzzled, Savannah carefully tallied up the money for the third time. And the result remained unchanged. She was under her total by $120.

Savannah paused, looking back from the figure on the til receipt to the money in her hands.

Something wasn't right.

Never had her totals while counting been off by more than $30 under before. And that had usually been due to mistakes made by the girls during the day – and they usually told her and she managed to fix them. A margin of $30 had been acceptable because it wasn't much. There had never been such a great discrepancy.

It troubled her. This meant that someone had stolen from her. One of her workers had stolen the money from her cash register.

Savannah left the front of the cafe and headed into the small room where all the workers left their belongings during the day and also doubled as an office for her. She unlocked a shutter and pulled it back, revealing the laptop screen where her security cameras feed went to. She focussed on the screen which showed the people at the register – she didn't bother looking from 11 o'clock onwards as she had taken all the orders from then on and she knew she hadn't made a mistake. Instead the focus was on from the time of opening until she had arrived at the cafe.

Sharp eyes watched carefully as she sped through the footage, looking for any indication of who had managed to take $120.

Jacks, Paula, Maddie, and the two new girls Claudette and Amy had all taken their turn at the register.

And if they were stealing money, she couldn't pick it. Savannah even looked through the video feed slowly at the points everyone but Jacks were on (as if Jacks would steal from her, Jacks couldn't hide the truth of anything like that to save her life), and she saw nothing but the girls doing their normal transacting with customers. Which meant they were very crafty with hiding the money.

It could have been very easy to accuse the two new girls she had hired in the last month. But something told Savannah not to jump to the easy conclusions. It could have easily been Maddie or Paula because they had been here with her from the beginning and knew where the cameras were placed.

What got her wasn't that the money was taken.

What had cut Savannah to the quick was this: why had the worker, whoever it was, felt the need to simply steal instead of asking for extra hours or a little advance on their wages?

And why had they needed it?

Writing the incident down in a notebook, Savannah made the decision not to make a deal out of it unless someone stole from her again. She would give the person the benefit of the doubt for the first time. But if this happened again she was tempted to get Lindsay or Jo in here to see if they could take the security footage and check it scientifically.

The good mood that her sailing through the day left Savannah then and she finished closing up morosely. A sick sense of betrayal crept in and made her wonder just who it was. Would she be able to tell the next time she saw her workers just who had taken the cash?

Locking the front door, the curly haired brunette idly traced the etched letters depicting her opening hours on the glass as she looked back inside the cafe. It felt like her haven, her comfort, had been slightly tainted.

Savannah momentarily considered calling Don and letting him know before dismissing it as something petty. He was probably in the middle of some interrogation or tracking down someone in his cases. He didn't need this kind of thing on his plate.

Sighing, she let her hand drop and headed for the subway, becoming a mere one in the mass of people moving through the big city. Maybe an hour in Central Park would help to settle her sudden anxiety.

* * *

**A/N: I enjoyed writing the first half of this chapter very much, so much so that it almost pained me to write the second half in the same chapter, but it would have been too short otherwise. That, and I needed to set up the other problems that are going to crop up in this fic. Feedback is always lovely :D**


	6. Basketball

**A/n: Here's a fun filled chapter before I start building everything up. To Smuffly, Kayla, and JJ, thanks for the constant support, it's so encouraging. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Sweaty bodies and mild swearing.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 6 – Basketball**

* * *

_I got the rock in my hands  
There ain't no tellin what I'm gonna do wit it  
When I got possession I'm gonna have to fool wit it  
I might cross you up and fake one way  
Turn around and hit you wit the MJ fade-away_

**Lil Bow Wow **– **Basketball **

* * *

Another week passed and Savannah didn't have another incident about the money although her suspicions were high. Every morning that she saw the four women she suspected she searched their faces and body language for any sign of malice or remorse, something that would clue her in. So far, nothing. And she didn't like that one bit. Ordinarily, she would have looked deeper into it, but the fact was the cafe was busy and she didn't really have the time to focus on the loss of money when she had customers to please. Service came first.

It was a relief to finish the following Sunday and head over towards Flack's precinct. He, Danny, and Hawkes were going to be at the nearest basketball court to play a few rounds of three-on-three with some guys from the FDNY and it seemed a great way to spend the rest of the Sunday.

After all, who wouldn't like to look at three handsome guys playing basketball in those bicep revealing basketball shirts?

Reaching the basketball courts, Savannah saw the three men easily at the bottom of the bleachers talking with Lindsay and Jo who were sitting in the stands. She grinned. She had hoped that she wasn't going to be the only spectator. Good thing she brought enough goodies for at least ten people. She went through the gate and waved as Don's blue eyes met hers and he smirked. He looked good in the loose black basketball shorts and green shirt. Danny was wearing blue and Sheldon was wearing red while the FDNY guys on the opposite end of the court wore neon yellow.

"Here comes the time out queen!" teased Danny as Savannah got closer.

"Nah-uh Messer, you aren't getting your mitts on these treats until you win!" she called back rebelliously.

"Now there's incentive," Sheldon said.

"And if we lose?" Danny asked curiously.

Savannah raised an eyebrow and replied, "You won't."

"I'm just sayin', _if_."

Her smirk turned cheeky and she murmured, "Well, you see your wife and my second cousin in the seats over there? We are going to go back to my place and leave the losers here so we can feast on chicken waldorf sandwiches, Cajun schnitzel, chocolate macaroons, berry friands and banana smoothies. All. For. Us."

"That's cold, Anna," Don piped up.

She turned to him, giving him a pointed look. "Then win. You can take 'em boys." And with that she sauntered off, purposefully swinging her hips as she went up to the third row of chairs to sit with Jo and Lindsay. As she sat, she saw all three gaping at her and she saw Danny murmur something to the taller detective, to which he nodded.

"Nice," said Jo from beside her.

Savannah shrugged, and said, "It's just a bit of fun."

Lindsay peered across Jo and asked hopefully, "Did you bring refreshments for during the game?"

"You bet," she winked, opening up the massive cooler bag she had hauled along with her and bringing out three jumbo sized take away cups. "Pineapple and watermelon juice for you Linds, an apple and carrot for you Jo – if I remember correctly that's your favourite – and for me, orange and ginger," Savannah announced proudly.

"God bless you Anna," Lindsay said gratefully, taking her juice and taking a sip. "I had no idea how I got on in life without such a generous friend as you."

"I second the motion," Jo added.

"And that's not all. I stopped by a bodega and got Maltesers," Savannah said, showing them the jumbo bag.

"Awesome. I have been so spoiled since I've been in New York," the older woman sighed. "Not only with the food…but with the eye candy." She pointed to where Don, Danny, and Sheldon were warming up for the game, stretching and passing the ball back and forth. She hummed and murmured light-heartedly, "You girls are very lucky to have found such great guys. If it wasn't for my age and the fact I have kids it would be a little easier to find a guy who isn't an idiot. Or married. Or taken. Or gay. And doesn't mind the fact that I was in the FBI and know how to use a gun."

"We know," Lindsay and Savannah chorused before giggling like little girls.

Jo said, "I'm glad I got invited out this afternoon. It's nice to chill out."

"Especially with _that_ view," said Lindsay, her eyes fixated on her husband as the men grouped together in the middle, obviously seeing who got which end of the court and who had possession of the ball.

"Cheers to that girls," the cafe owner said and raising her juice to the other two, who mimicked her.

It seemed that the guys from the fire department – Lyle, Hoover, and Porter – had won the toss for the ball for the game was on as they dribbled up the court, working like a well oiled machine to get it up that far. But they didn't count on Danny's speed or Sheldon's unpredictability or Don's determination. The game was at a stalemate for the first ten minutes, the women cheering the three on as they kept stealing possession from the FDNY but always getting it taken off them in return as the burlier fire department men used rougher tactics than usual.

Finally, Flack intercepted a bounce pass and sped up to their hoop, performing a perfect layup and getting the first points for the NYPD. Sheldon and Danny slapped him on the back in congratulations while the three women cheered loudly.

Hoover, the biggest of the three fire department men, had Flack in his sights after that.

Whenever Don managed to get the ball, Hoover would practically drag him to the ground to get it back off him. Last try, Hoover managed to knock it out of his hand, get past Hawkes and Danny to slam the ball into the hoop. Seeing their rivals holler like baboons in celebration made the three even more determined.

"Hey Flack, that was for your girlfriend," Hoover mocked, looking up to the stand where Savannah was and waggling his eyebrows.

She flipped him the bird.

"You're lucky she's not down here on the court Hoover, she would have canned your ass for that comment," Flack shot back, the taunt rankling.

"As if."

Flack didn't bother to reply that Savannah had managed to take down Harry Gort who was at least as big as Hoover. He knew what she could do, that she was made of sterner stuff than her sweet and warm personality initially revealed. Instead, he vowed that he would make the next point. He gestured to Sheldon and Danny and whispered a plan to them – one that brought out matching smirks from the CSI's.

"This is going to be interesting," Savannah mused in the stands.

"Meaning?" asked Jo.

Lindsay filled her in. "Don's expression. It's like when he's going after a really clever suspect and he knows he's going to get them. Danny has that same one."

Jo cottoned on. "Ah, so they're going to do something interesting then," she murmured. "Damn, I should have brought popcorn, this is entertainment."

"It would have been even more so if I had went down after that big brute for doing that eyebrow thing. He thinks he's impressive? Bah!" Savannah snorted in disgust.

"Speaking of impressive…you never did get around to telling me how good Don was in bed," Jo probed mischievously.

"Oh God, do you seriously want to know that kind of thing about someone who is your co-worker? Knowing that you'll look at them when you're going to discuss lab results or are at a scene and know just how big…" Savannah trailed off as she realised what she had blurted and her cheeks coloured while Jo laughed and Lindsay looked a bit surprised.

"Oh honey, when you're a CSI as long as I am you don't get affected like that anymore. We've pretty much seen it all" the older woman chortled.

"Is he really?" wondered Lindsay.

"I am _not_ giving you specifics, I'm just going to say I am a very happy woman with him, that is all," Savannah enunciated. "Can we please get off my healthy sex life and back to the buffet of eye candy?"

"Agreed," Lindsay said hastily.

"You're only agreeing so I can't ask about Danny," Jo pointed out.

"Yep!"

The afternoon sun beat down on the six men as they fought for the next point. Sheldon had the ball, doing tricks by dribbling through his legs, feinting moving forward. He was stalling while Don and Danny ran around, almost like dancing on the tips of their toes, before finally they made their move. Sheldon leaped forward, almost knocking Lyle off his feet while carelessly throwing the ball behind him. Danny caught it, zigzagging around Porter and tossing it high into the air toward the hoop as Hoover came for him, leaving Don to dart forward, jump up and dunk it into the net.

"Yeah baby, nothing but net!" Flack crowed, smirking.

"What the hell was that?" Porter grumbled.

"Schoolyard bullshit man," Danny shrugged.

"Suck shit Messer!" Lyle shouted.

Lindsay heard this and got a fire in her eyes. "Pass the Maltesers Anna," she said determinately, holding out a hand. Grinning, the curly haired woman handed over the packet and murmured, "Get 'im sharpshooter."

Digging into the bag, Lindsay stood, lined up her shot and let loose with a handful of the round chocolate pellets at Lyle's head. They collided like pebbles, and he cursed, spinning around to see Lindsay looking pissed off. "You wanna come up here and say that?" she cried out.

"Thanks darlin'!" grinned Danny.

Lyle didn't want to take his chances and just grumbled under his breath as they all took their positions again. This time Sheldon got a clean break and was able to shoot a basket before anyone could tell where he was.

"The doctor is in," the Italian smirked.

"Nice work," complimented the taller detective.

"Yeah, they don't look too happy…let's keep kicking their asses. Besides, Anna's holding that ransom of food over our heads," Hawkes reminded.

"True, let's go," nodded Flack.

Both sides determination to win meant that no shots were scored for another ten minutes until Porter managed to trip Danny up and took off the ball, elbowing Hawkes while Hoover blocked Flack so he could get his shot off which narrowed the gap.

"Damn," Flack cursed as he and the other two got together, frowning.

"Yeah, well, they're playing dirty. Well, more than usual. Must be because of the girls, the show offs," Danny reasoned. "I want that next point. That shot? It's gonna be mine."

"Then we'll all play to our weaknesses just to throw them off. Disorient 'em and then once the ball's yours, own it," instructed Don. They all fist-bumped and took their positions. Like a charm, their play worked. Flack played low while Danny played high and Sheldon tried to be speedy, the lack of their usual moves doing exactly how Flack had described and confusing their rivals. Danny managed to wrest the ball from Lyle, spinning away and cheekily rolling it across his shoulders and shooting the ball – sending it sailing through the hoop.

"Whoo babe!" Lindsay cheered, pumping her fist in the air.

The game sped up after that as the firemen got more desperate to score points. The detectives matched them shot for shot until finally the alarm clock they had at the sideline went off with a shriek, indicating the end of the game. The score ended up being in favour of the detectives with a score of 20-12. Don, Danny and Sheldon whooped in victory while Porter, Lyle and Hoover collected their gear sullenly walked off the court. They got their water bottles, sculling it thirstily as they moved up into the small set of bleachers.

"We won! Yeah, that's the third time in a row we've beaten those losers," Danny gloated, sprinkling himself liberally with water.

"Okay, time to pay up Cormier," Don said, panting slightly as he moved across the row of seats in front of the girls so he was eye level with them. "Where's the goods?"

"In the bag. Malteser?" she offered, giving him the red packet.

He and his teammates practically ripped the bag apart to get to the candy, stuffing it in their mouths and making Savannah laugh at their efforts. Jo looked a bit disturbed while Lindsay looked away as if to say 'this barbarian is not my husband.'

"We needed that," Sheldon pointed out to them, "We've been on that court for over an hour."

"You're lucky that it's not summer yet – I would shudder to think what you would do then," Jo said.

"Yep, scary. Hey Anna, thanks babe," Don said, spreading his arms wide and grinning at her.

Savannah gave him an disbelieving look. "You're sweaty. And smelly. Later, after you've cleaned up we can cuddle."

Don got a positively wicked expression, putting his water bottle down and climbing onto the seat slowly. Savannah realised what he was going to do with widened eyes and she said in a warning voice, "Don, no."

"You asked for it," he bantered.

"No, no, no. Aaahh!" she screeched as she realised he wasn't kidding and got up and ran off towards the stairs as Don jumped up to her row, chasing her. "If you get my clothes dirty I am _not_ going to be happy Don!" she yelled as she hurtled down onto the court, inwardly cursing that she had flats on instead of joggers. She might have had half a chance of getting away if she did. Savannah turned abruptly, shrieking as she saw the blue eyed detective hot on her heels with a massive smile stretching across his lips. She knew it was futile but tried to sprint back to the stands and take her chances there.

She never made it.

Hot, sweat slicked arms wrapped around and caught her, making Savannah cry out in offense as they soaked into the peach coloured shirt she wore, staining it noticeably. "_Don! _You ass!_"_ she shrieked.

His warm, full laughter sounded off near Savannah's ear and sent shivers down her spine, rebelling against the annoyance she felt. Flack then proceeded to pick her up and twirl her around. '_Don't laugh, don't giggle, don't even snicker,' _the brunette thought to herself as she was span through the air, feet flying wildly, but she lost the battle by the third rotation and giggled madly as her strong boyfriend made all her anger and tension fade. Oh she would get him back but she felt like she was floating even if she was dizzy. When he set her on her feet Don held onto her, chuckling lowly, "You're so cute."

"You messed up my shirt."

"You called me smelly…and an ass," Don reminded her, blowing air playfully into the skin of her neck, making Savannah squeal and twist and turn, trying to escape. "Nah-uh babe, this is your punishment."

"Don, let me go!" she protested, laughing as his arms tightened and the tips of his fingers tickled her.

"I gotcha!"

Savannah's giggles echoed around the court and to where their friends watched on. Danny got a sly look on his face and edged towards his wife, who was too busy watching Don and Anna to notice as he came up behind her and wrapped his own arms around her.

"Urgh, Danny!" groaned Lindsay in disgust as she realised why her back was suddenly hot and damp. "You had to do that didn't you?"

"Yup!"

"You are doing the next few loads of washing and hanging them out," the shorter woman grumbled as Danny snickered and kissed her cheek.

Hawkes shook his head and looked over at Jo who playfully said, "You even think of doing anything like that I might shoot you."

"Wasn't even an inkling in my mind," he assured her with a smile.

The older CSI looked out to where Don and Savannah were on the court, Don having released her but the pair stood close, smiles all too evident on their faces as they chatted. Thoughtfully, she murmured, "It's nice to see them smiling."

Sheldon observed his friends with Jo and remarked to her, "He wasn't like that a year ago."

"He wasn't? You mean he only recently got a sense of humour?"

Sheldon shook his head and explained, "Roughly a year ago Savannah and Don had pretty much just met and Don was still cut up over the murder of his then girlfriend and fellow detective, Jessica Angell. And he kinda got a dark edge to him in the following months. He grieved hard. And we could all understand that, you know?" At Jo's nod, he went on, "Don changed. We were all worried about him – and then Anna came along. And she brought some of the old Flack back. It was then we all realised just how different she was, and we all became her friends. It's been a good turn of events."

"Might be another reason why she didn't tell me about Don over e-mail. She didn't want to share sensitive information," she theorised aloud.

"Maybe."

Savannah made her way back up to them, Don following with a big smile. "Okay guys, who's hungry?" she asked.

"Me!" everyone replied.

Green-grey eyes twinkling brightly, the curly haired woman went to the cooler bag and opened it, bringing out containers upon containers of food and arranging them all over the near seats. She turned to them all and gestured at the feast. "Dig in my lovlies," she said.

When it was over, Savannah didn't even have a crust of bread left. They had eaten it all.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I deliberately took some inspiration off some clips from season 9 episode 1 I saw on Youtube. Regardless, I hoped you all enjoyed this instalment. Reviews keep the muse happy. **


	7. Rippling Waves

**A/n: The reason why I'm uploading this earlier than usual is because my muse went basically apeshit and wrote chapters 9 and 10 to be MASSIVE. So here's my offering for the day to speed things up a little because I'm so excited to unveil all the melodrama I've come up with (evil grin). To Kayla, JJ, Smuffly, SomebodyWhoCares and Leslie Emm, thanks for the reviews! Those reviews are partly why the muse went crazy after all…**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Erm…more text conversations? Mild swearing. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 7 – Rippling Waves**

* * *

_Booty all out, tongue out her mouth, cleavage from here to Mexico  
She walks with a twist, one hand on her hip, when she gets wit'cha she lets it go  
Nasty put some clothes on, you look to' down  
Nasty don't know why you will not sit down  
Heels on her feet, swear she's in heat, flirtin' with every man she sees_

**Destiny's Child – Nasty Girl**

* * *

Savannah was mid-way through a breakfast rush when her phone buzzed. She let it go unanswered as she had to finish off a special request of chilli eggs and bacon – which involved also mixing chilli powder with some butter to butter the bread. The customer who ordered this particular dish always came in once a week on a Tuesday and requested the exact same thing. He enjoyed everything (including his hot chocolate) with spice.

When she finally had a minute, she checked her cell and found she had a missed call from Don. She was about to check it when a new text alert popped up. She tapped to open the message.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

_Can't make lunch, got a body to get to on Jane St. Sorry :(_

* * *

Savannah decided to have a little fun with him.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

_That body better not be your other girlfriend._

* * *

After a minute the reply came.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

_Thanks for that. I just spat coffee all over Graham._

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

_Say sorry from me and that I'll give him a free piece of apple crumble when he swings by next time. Will that soothe his ruffled feathers?_

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

_He said it was worth getting a coffee shower now. That aside, you are hilarious. No, really. I have to be more careful the way I word my texts from now on ;) _

* * *

Before Savannah could reply, another text came up on the display.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

_On another note, I would have to be the stupidest man in the world to go 'see another body' or have another girl over you. You're the only woman for me. _

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

_*heart* Now go and investigate._

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

_This is going to be interesting. I'm taking Waverly on her first go with me._

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

_That new girl? The one with the red hair?_

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

_Yep. _

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

_Good luck._

* * *

Savannah didn't think anything of it until later in the afternoon when Jo and Lindsay came in for a break and to say hello. She felt a moment of nostalgia as they walked in, momentarily imagining the big bouncy curls of Stella following them in, but knowing that the Grecian was in New Orleans as head of their Crime Lab. Leaving the cash register, she came around to give her friends a hug of greeting. "Hey girls, how're you doing?"

"Good, good. But I need some serious coffee," Jo said, heading to the CSI's usual table. Over the past few weeks the whole team had made her feel welcome enough that she was truly one of the group and felt no compunction about claiming the usual table with Lindsay. As she and the younger CSI sat, the older woman asked, "I would normally ask for one of your fabulous cakes but I'm trying to be good today. Got anything that isn't going to make me feel a little guilty?"

"I know just what you need," Savannah assured, looking to Lindsay. "You too?"

"Please and thank you," Lindsay replied sweetly.

Savannah went out the back and grabbed some berries and apples, prepping them and cutting them up to make a quick fruit salad and then put a generous dollop of yogurt on top, adding a mango dressing that she usually reserved for a specialty chicken salad. When she came out the front again, Jo and Lindsay abruptly stopped talking and looked up at her as she slid their food onto the table next to their coffees. She knew people only did that when they were talking about her. "Okay, what were you guys talking about?" she questioned them mildly, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

Lindsay seemed a bit hesitant, but Jo shared none of it. She looked Savannah in the eye and asked, "You met the new detective down at Flack's precinct didn't you? And you know he's partnered with her right now?"

The cafe owner wasn't sure if 'met' was quite the right word to describe her interaction with Kirsti Waverly, but she nodded. "Yeah, I've met her. Don told me he was going to a crime scene with her today."

"We're not sure if this is even an issue," Lindsay cut in.

"You're not sure, but I know that if I were Anna, I'd want to know," Jo explained. "And I think you should know that Waverly…she was acting a bit odd around Flack at the scene. I don't think you're going to like what I'm going to say next but I have to let you know."

Savannah looked between the two concerned faces. "Let me know what?" she asked.

"Waverly was not dressed for a crime scene. She looked like she was going out clubbing with this tiny little leather crop jacket and tight latex top underneath. Her jeans looked like they were painted on and had these studs on the pockets like most of the younger crowd do and she had these high heeled studded knee-high boots. And her top was only barely containing her puppies. She looked like she was going bounty hunting on some reality show, not investigating a homicide." Jo described this with a bit of trepidation, knowing that it could impact how Anna would feel about Flack and Waverly partnering together. But she felt like she needed to know. To hear about it from cruel gossipers would crush her.

Lindsay took her co-worker's pause to continue. "Yeah, it was like some weird Catwoman outfit. And the whole time we were at the scene whenever she bent down to look at something it was always like she was stepping into Flack's line of sight every time and bending straight from the hips instead of crouching like any normal person would do. It was like Waverly was trying so hard to impress just him, no one else," she said. Seeing Savannah's stunned expression, Lindsay reassured, "Flack thought that she was just being weird though. He told her that studded apparel was inappropriate for a crime scene because if it got caught on evidence she could destroy it or accidentally take some with her. When Waverly said that she wore that kind of thing back in Atlantic City, he shot back that she was with the NYPD and that this was the protocol for the detectives here. She shut up after that but she was never like that to other detectives she's been working with."

"Lindsay and I wondered whether to tell you. We didn't want to tell you because it's upsetting and could possibly be nothing, but on the other hand we didn't want you to hear a warped version from some other person," Jo reasoned gently, taking Savannah's hand. Savannah looked confused by the news. "Savannah...you okay?"

"So you're saying that the new detective is hitting openly on my boyfriend?" she clarified.

Her friends nodded.

Savannah's suspicions rose higher when it came to Kirsti Waverly. She knew there was something off about the redhead but she didn't think it would end up to be this. But she had one reassurance. "At least he didn't even look when she was offering up a view to him on a silver platter," she observed.

"Yeah…there is that," Lindsay mumbled.

"Flack's a good man. He doesn't seem like the type to cheat or openly check out other women when he's in a relationship, and his behaviour today proved it," the older CSI said.

"I know that," Savannah replied defensively, "I didn't think for one second that he would do that. It's her that I'm wondering about."

"Yeah, like out of everyone in the whole precinct, why the hell does a new detective in town who is still trying to find her niche go after the most taken guy in there?" Lindsay wondered aloud.

"Makes you wonder about her morals huh," remarked the cafe owner. She then looked up and said determinedly, "Don't even think about confronting her about it guys, and don't even mention it to anyone else."

The two CSI's frowned at her. "Why not warn her off?"asked Lindsay. "What she's doing is wrong."

"And what she's doing is no less than what other women do to men every day. As much as I'm liked by NYPD, I'm not going to make a fuss because of one idiot's flirting. She can go ahead and try all she wants. Don doesn't suffer fools lightly and he'll make her know that. Besides, my private life is dragged up too often when I'd like it to remain mostly private, and stirring this issue up is going to do just that. I think it's better to let her dig her own grave so to speak," Savannah replied softly. She looked between her two friends and favoured them with a grateful look. "I'm glad you told me. I really am. I just don't think it's worth making a big deal about."

Lindsay accepted this and nodded, but Jo was silently unconvinced. She returned the gaze evenly, letting her cousin know that this wasn't the end of the discussion.

Lindsay and Jo left when Adam called with information on their evidence and they promised to keep their observations about Detective Waverly's odd behaviour to themselves. It was not long after that while Savannah was at the cash register when another familiar face wandered into her cosy cafe. She looked up after serving a customer and her good nature was instantly restored.

"Sam! Hey!" she cried out, heading around the counter and embracing the smiling blue-eyed woman excitedly.

"Hey Anna," Samantha Flack replied, hugging the curly haired brunette back.

"Oh I've missed you. Haven't seen you in a few weeks, how are you?" asked Savannah, leading her to the CSI's usual table and calling for one of her new serving girls to make hot chocolates.

"Yeah, I'm good. I've been settling in that new job Don got for me with the reporters for the precinct, so things are really looking up for me now," Sam replied.

"I'm glad you got the job," the cafe owner said sincerely.

"Me too. It's nice to have something constant, you know?" the younger Flack mentioned. She gave her thanks as the hot chocolates arrived at their table and said, "I do have a little bit of a reason to swing by though."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Want to come shopping with me? I need a break and I haven't seen you in a while and I need your help on a project I'm working on," Sam replied, taking a sip of her drink and looking at Savannah's curious expression. "I haven't seen Don since he told me about the job and I need someone's input on the project who knows him well apart from my parents," she explained.

Nodding, Savannah replied, "Sure. As long as you don't mind sticking around for a few hours while I close up. What's the project?"

"It's a surprise."

"Fair enough, count me in," Savannah grinned. "I swear you see more of me than you do your brother."

Sam chuckled. "I probably do, but I can't blame him – it's the career he's in."

"Being a detective is tough."

"I don't know how you do it Anna in putting up with it, but I know I'm grateful for it for my brothers sake," Sam admitted. They then chatted about their lives over the hot chocolates until Savannah had to close up for the day. The younger Flack was happy just to sit and watch as her friend and her workers wound the cafe down for the day. She thought about how it could have been so different if she had never met Anna, had never listened to her words. Where would her relationships with her family be now without her? Would she have turned back to the temptation of drink? It was scary to think how one person's actions had such a profound effect on her life.

Seeing Anna rush around, Sam wondered if she should get up and help. After all, she never asked for much and had done so much inadvertently for the Flack family. She stood up and offered, "Hey, Anna, I could always polish some cutlery if you want."

Savannah waved her off. "You don't have to. You can relax, we're on schedule."

Now that the idea was in her head, it wouldn't go. Sam shrugged and grabbed the cutlery tray and a cloth, heading back to the table, smirking as she heard Savannah huff, "Just as stubborn as your brother."

"And you are just as stubborn as us," Sam said.

"True as it may be, I think it might be a Flack family trait to be that stubborn," countered Savannah with a knowing smile.

The curly haired woman had just finished counting the cash for the day when her phone rang. It was a pleasant surprise to see Don's name come up on the display.

"Hey."

"Hey Anna. What are you up to?"

"Just closing up and then I'm going out," Savannah replied.

There was a pause over the line and she could instantly tell he was disappointed. Uncertainly, she asked, "Why? What was up?"

A heavy sigh came from Flack's end and he replied, "I was just going to see if you wanted to see a movie tonight. I managed to finish up on the Lobowitz murder and my sources and searches are still pending for a current case so I can leave on time today. But if you're going somewhere…"

"Don…I'm so, so sorry. Sam came in a few hours ago and wanted to go out with me."

"What are you doing with Sam?" he asked curiously.

"Shopping. She asked me before you did, and I haven't seen her in a few weeks."

"So you're picking Sam over me?" he said incredulously, feeling a little let down by this. Another moment that he can get free and suddenly Savannah wasn't able to be with him? It felt just not possible that they could be denied more than a few hours here and there along with the all too short nights and mornings. It was like they could never get a day off each week together.

"Just this once Don. Besides, it gives you a chance to catch up on the paperwork you've been whining about," Savannah reasoned.

"Yeah yeah."

"I'll make you cheesecake?" she offered hopefully, hating the desolation in his tone.

"I'm going to hold you to that." While it was clear Don wasn't happy, at least he felt a bit better that Savannah was going out with Sam and having some bonding time with her. He mumbled, "I hope I can see you tomorrow."

"If you can make it, I can always make that lamb casserole you like so much for lunch. Does that make you feel a bit better?"

Don let a slight smirk reach his face. "Yeah."

"Good. Well I'll see you then. Don't overwork yourself Don."

"Have fun with Sam."

"I will."

Hanging up, Savannah felt a touch on her shoulder to see Sam looking concerned. "That Don? He didn't want you to go out with me?"

"Not that he didn't want me to go out with you. It's just that we haven't been able to get a lot of time to ourselves lately. It's hard. But I don't care, I understand completely. Things kept coming up at the worst of times, and yes it's aggravating but I can't control it," Savannah exposed honestly. When the slightest bit of guilt crossed Sam's features she grabbed her in a hug. "I'm not skipping out on going out with you. I need some girl time and I can't wait to spend it with you."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

* * *

Coming off the phone was bittersweet for Flack.

While he was happy that Savannah and Samantha were getting along great, he had really wanted to spend some time with his girlfriend. Just needing a little something to pull him from the seemingly endless tasks of interviewing witnesses, suspects, checking with the CSI teams on what leads could be found. It was a busy time. Stupidly busy.

"That your girl?"

Flack looked up to see Kirsti Waverly looking at him, having obviously asked the question. "Yeah," he replied.

"Didn't seem like she wanted to go out tonight," the redhead observed.

"Yeah, well, she's going out with Sam, a friend. But it's fine. I mean, more time for paperwork," Flack said. He shrugged. "Not a big deal."

He then got stuck into the forms he had to fill out, noting calls he had to make. As he worked, he didn't notice the scrutiny he was under from his new partner. Kirsti had listened very carefully to the conversation. From what she had gathered, this Sam guy must be a close friend of Savannah's and Flack didn't exactly approve of their friendship. Judging from the tone of conversation, Flack's girlfriend had ditched him for her 'friend.' Which usually meant from her experience that Cormier was a cheater, and was cheating with this Sam character.

Kirsti turned over the thought. Yes. That could be the only explanation.

This might be her chance.

From the second she had gotten the desk in front of Detective Flack's, Kirsti had wanted him. Oh she might be whistled at by a healthy percentage of the single population in here (and some of the taken ones as well), and all of them had complimented her indigo eyes, her red hair and her chest, but not one of them had really caught her interest. No one but the tall Irish detective. When she found out he had a girlfriend she had been annoyed. But to find out this nugget of information might mean prying him away from that Cormier woman.

Discreetly folding her arms under her bust to make her breasts even more noticeable in her top, Kirsti turned to Flack and interrupted his work with a slight 'ahem.' When blue eyes glanced at her, she suggested, "You know, if you're not going out, we could hang out at Sullivan's and I can get to know you better as my mentor."

"How about no?"

Kirsti was stunned by the flat, uncaring answer. Had she not affected him? She hid her frown and asked "Why not?"

Don put down his pen and turned to her, his face calm even as his voice conveyed his irritation. "First of all, you still have another two hours on the clock, I don't. Secondly, the shit you pulled at the scene didn't impress me. You acted like you knew everything when you didn't. I know you're trying to make yourself look good but you got the job. No need to make yourself so fake. It just pisses people off because you look like an arrogant shit. You want to be a good detective here then you don't go off with this diva thing."

Kirsti realised what she was doing wrong then and nodded. She realised that she would have to be sweeter. To pull this off, she would have to be.

"And lastly…I just don't want to. You know, ever hear of that rare phenomenon where some guys don't want to go out at the end of the day? Well I'm part of it at times and today is that time," Don finished, turning back to the papers before him with a obstinate air.

Kirsti recognised a shut down when she saw one and felt slightly humiliated. Was he so jaded that not only could he not see his girlfriend was cheating on him right under his nose but that he didn't see how she was basically putting herself on offer? She bit her lip to stay silent, focussing on her work to take away her impatience. She would have to get into Flack's good graces somehow to get what she wanted.

Him.

* * *

**A/N: Just before anyone asks, yes, the song lyrics are about Kirsti. I was listening from the album the song was from (I was cleaning out my CD stocks) and the lyrics were perfect. Yes, it is quite obvious where I'm going with Kirsti but I'm meaning it to. It's just going to be an interesting conclusion to the arc. Regardless, hope you enjoyed the chapter and the mounting tensions. **

**Oh, and I just wanted to say I was really proud of how I managed to word the conversation between Savannah and Don so it would appear to a casual observer that Sam could be a man from listening to Don's words alone. :D**


	8. Black and White

**A/n: WHOOOO! So happy for the six reviews I got for last chapter. If you think that was drama, wait for this! Drama alert from now on until the end of the fic. Thank you to Leslie Emm, Forest Angel, Smuffly, JJ, SomebodyWhoCares, and Kayla. You guys are amazing. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing, more text conversation.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 8 – Black and White**

* * *

_I always feel like  
Somebody's watching me  
And I have no privacy  
Whooooa-oh-oh  
I always feel like  
Somebody's watching me  
Tell me, is it just a dream_

**Rockwell – Somebody's Watching Me**

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I am so glad I came past today for lunch. I've been in an interrogation with Stupid McIdiotface for over an hour and having a full belly's done me good.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

You are so lucky I wasn't eating or drinking something when I read that. Stupid McIdiotface? Nice.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I'm bored. He's not giving me anything to work with – sarcastically or otherwise, so I'm just waiting him out and talking to you. And it's no fun trying to think up some sort of freaky name to disguise his real identity to you.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Making up names is easy. Use car names, gun brand names, even the guys in your precinct. I can think of a few. Enzo Lambo. Guardian Wesson. Graham Haplan.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

You must be as bored as I am. Did you have too much coffee today? You know you can't handle more than one.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

_:-p_

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I'm serious.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

No, I did not have any coffee today. My mind is just being particularly inventive.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Particularly inventive huh?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Yes.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Like the inventive which gets me and you and some chocolate mousse somewhere in the vicinity of a bed?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

:D Maybe. Soon, I promise. If you can make it later tonight…I don't have mousse but will caramel syrup and ice cream do?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Tempting me when I'm in the interrogation room?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

You started it.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I'd love to, but I'm not sure how my cases are panning out right now. I'll let you know when I can. What other things are you thinking up right now?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Food wise or 'bedroom' wise?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Bed, baby.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

I'm thinking quickie against the apartment door without us taking off much of our clothes because of the limited time. That way I can't leave marks on your back.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

…

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Can't handle the heat, get out the kitchen Donny Boy.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I'm half enjoying it, except Mr. Stupid across from me is looking at me weird.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Why?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I might have choked when I read that last text.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Maybe you being a little odd will get him to confess?

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I might start singing. That might make him confess. What do you think is more torturous, me trying to rap or me trying to sing country?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Country. Definitely country.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Thanks babe. Maybe see you later.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Stay safe.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

You know me ;)

* * *

Savannah hummed as she placed her phone back in her bag and went to the front door of the cafe, turning over the closed sign before going into the kitchen. Jacks was there, scrubbing down the benches. "Hey, you almost done? All I have left is to do the cash counting."

"Yep. I heard you giggling out there. Is Don here?" Jacks asked, straightening to her full 5'3 height.

"No. Just reading his texts. Now, the door is locked and the sign is flipped, so we can go home soon. Jo is coming over to dinner with her kids, you and Aunt Emilie," she replied.

"You made gumbo didn't you?"

"Sure did," answered Savannah with a smile. "I know it's everyone's favourite, so why not make it? And I set the dinner table at home early this morning so everything looks nice and clean. I can't wait."

Jacks smiled back at her and then went back to her scrubbing, prompting Savannah to go back to the front and count the money from today. It had been a fairly busy day and she was eager to see the profits. Her aim was to buy a brand new oven and she had been putting a little bit of money from each day aside for that purpose. Going through the familiar routine was soothing, and it pleased her that the takings were so high.

Until Savannah compared her counted total to the til receipt.

$107 under what it _should_ be.

Not again.

A sinking feeling in her gut, Savannah slowly recounted the cash, making sure that she made no mistake. And again, it came up the same amount under the total profit for the day. She stared at the money in her hands, the realisation fully sinking in. Someone had stolen from her again. Made her the fool for the second time. She slowly sunk down into the stool behind the counter, clenching the handful of cash in her hands tightly.

"What's wrong?"

Savannah looked up, meeting Jacks eyes which were full of concern.

"You're wearing this 'oh shit' look," Jacks described softly, coming forward. "Anna…say something."

"Someone is stealing from the til," the taller woman breathed, caught on the narrow precipice between anger and confusion.

Jacks blinked, unbelieving. "Say that again."

"Someone is stealing," repeated Savannah, abruptly getting up, knocking the stool over and rushing through the kitchen to her work office, dropping the key to the shutter that hid the security camera feed in her haste. She growled in frustration as she fell to the floor to pick it up, brutally shoving the key in the lock and revealing the screen. The brunette was barely aware of her cousin trailing her in, looking just as shocked. Pulling up the feed, Savannah carefully watched for all the times that Maddie, Paula, Claudette, and Amy were on the register. Eyes flicked this way and that, looking for any clue…

When the tape came to 5pm and the last of her serving girls left the cafe, Savannah put her head in her hands and exhaled sharply in aggravation.

She didn't see anything. Not one thing that meant she could point a finger.

"Chere," murmured Jacks carefully, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's going on, tell me."

"Almost two weeks ago on that Sunday when you opened up for me, when I was counting the takings that day I noticed that we were under the total by $120. I dismissed it. You know, thinking, okay, one time, that must be it. A stupid mistake from whoever took the money. But today…we're under by $107 exactly," Savannah explained sullenly. "I've checked the cameras then and now and I can't spot anything. I can't see the girls stealing the money. They're too sneaky for me to see."

Jacks' hand clenched on Savannah's shoulders and her mouth set in a firm line. "Bitch," she cursed out the robber.

"That's how I feel. If they need money, why can't they tell me? I've always looked after everyone to help them get by, they should know that I'm approachable, aren't I?" agonised Savannah, scrubbing a hand through her hair, loosening it from the bun it was in.

"You are approachable, Anna. You're a great boss. But what if they don't want to ask for the money because they just get a thrill from getting away with it or something petty like that? It's through no fault of yours," Jacks said.

"It just…" she trailed off, blowing air through her lips and saying, "Urgh, it's just not what I need right now. I don't want to suspect anyone. I don't want to have to point fingers and fire someone."

"I know, it sucks. Hey, if this happens again, why don't we call a whole staff meeting informing them of the situation and that we know and that if they confess we won't get the police involved," Jacks suggested wisely. She gave Savannah a quick hug and pointed out, "You have some friends over at the PD. Why don't you turn the footage over to them?"

"Over $227? No. Because it's not exactly a high priority for them. We'll figure something out between us Jacks," murmured Savannah, still troubled and hurt by this. As far as she was concerned, if you stole from her you were disrespecting her as a human being no matter the motive.

She noted it in her cash book and turned off the lights, following Jacks back to the car they shared.

Something black was lodged underneath one of the windshield wipers.

Jacks saw it first, tugging it out from the wiper and grumbling, "Stupid brochures. I swear people don't ever pay attention to this kind of advertising."

Savannah made a non-committal hum, too busy searching for her keys in the depths of her bag. A clink. Ah, they were next to her gun. It was when she heard her cousin gasp that she realised something else was wrong. Turning her attention from her key search, the taller brunette asked, "What's the matter?"

"It's an envelope…it has your surname on it Anna."

With a slightly shaking hand, Jacks handed it over the hood.

It was a plain black envelope with the word 'Cormier' in bold spiky writing. The writing was a blinding snow white and was underlined in a bright, bloody red. Someone obviously wanted Savannah's attention. Gingerly, she turned it over and opened up the flap, reaching in and taking out the piece of inky coloured card. It was blank on one side. On the other, the blindingly white words glared angrily up at Savannah in the same spiky font.

"_I WILL CATCH YOU IN THE ACT. YOU ARE WARNED."_

The card dropped from her fingers.

The fall of the object was soft for such a hard hitting statement.

Savannah stared down at it, the words clear against the black of the paper they were written on. She felt the breath catch in her throat and she whipped her head around, searching the makeshift parking lot at the back of the cafe. Was anyone watching her right now to see if she got their message? Who could have left something so abruptly shocking? She felt sick down to her stomach, her gut churning on top of the fury from discovering that money had been stolen. She leaned against the car to steady herself, clutching her bag protectively in front of her chest, ready for any attack. Every sense was alert for danger.

Seeing her ashy face, Jacks got more worried and came around, spotting the note and reading it. "Oh sugared honey iced tea," she said, doing the same as Savannah and looking around suspiciously. "Let's get out of here. Let's go to Don."

"No."

Jacks looked at her cousin like she was crazy. "Why the hell not? He can help judge if this is an active threat and he could see if there's any evidence."

"He…he's busy, he doesn't need something like this," Savannah tried to reason feebly, all the while looking around, ready to defend herself.

"Screw that, he'll be upset if you _don't_ go to him about this. That man will do anything for you, now let's go," Jacks argued, reaching into Savannah's bag for the keys. She grabbed them and opened up the door, practically shoving the taller woman down into the seat before running around to the driver's seat. "We're going to that precinct whether you like it or not Anna."

Savannah looked down at the paper with its poisonous message in the mockery of innocence white and then nodded slowly. "You're right. I wasn't thinking straight there for a second," she confessed.

"It's fine," assured Jacks.

They arrived at the precinct in no time at all, hurriedly signing in, Savannah barely managing to keep from crumpling the paper in her stress. She entered the bull pen, relieved to see that Don had obviously gotten out of the interrogation room not too long ago. Sensing a presence, he looked up and frowned at seeing both Savannah and Jacks, looking nervous.

"Savannah? Are you okay?" he asked in concern, standing and coming over to them, taking his girlfriend's hand to lead her back to his desk so they wouldn't make a spectacle of themselves in the middle of the room. He saw that she was biting her lower lip, something that she only did when she was anxious about telling him something. He squeezed her hand. "What is it?"

Jacks took the other chair and pointed to the object in Savannah's hand. "That was under a wiper on our car."

"It had my last name on an envelope. It was for me," Savannah said in a surprisingly steady voice given her shaken body language. She held out the note and cautioned, "Don't touch it because there might be evidence."

Don was confounded by the sudden turn of events but peered at the black card, reading the words.

Blue eyes widened. It looked very foreboding.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" Don asked, detective mode switching on into high gear. "Who has access to where your car is parked? Does anyone have any kind of vendetta against you right now?"

Savannah shook her head. "I don't know. It could be any of my workers or someone in the surrounding buildings. That alley off to the side of the cafe is easy access to anyone. Anyone could have found the car and put that there. I don't know who else would want to warn me. I don't understand. Catch me in the act of what?" she rambled, her whole body tense as she looked to Flack for reassurance. "It was just sitting there."

"You haven't pissed off anyone lately, have you?" Flack questioned.

"No. And I would tell you if I had, I wouldn't be stupid about this," she replied, exasperated.

Thankfully, he saw her point and reached into a desk drawer to grab a pair of gloves and a clean document envelope, carefully taking both the note and the black envelope. "Your prints and DNA are in the system from the kidnapping so that's not a problem. I'll have Mac and Adam run tests on it off the record, but if they find something, we'll have to report it, you know that," he warned her, his eyes showing her the implications of this. When the brunette bit her lip again, looking away from him and down to the floor, he knew that she needed something more than verbal assurance. Carefully, Don took her hand, moving out of the bull pen and to a secluded corridor towards the back of the precinct. It was there he could finally soothe her, drawing her close to him and embracing her warmly.

"I froze," Savannah whispered, holding him equally as tight.

"It's okay," Don replied.

"I read the words and I just…I got stressed because to see that just threw me for a loop and a half."

Don rubbed her shoulders and murmured, "It's understandable. If I were you, I would have frozen too. I'm just glad you brought it to me. If you got hurt because this was a real threat and I didn't know, it would have let my Irish temper get the better of me."

"Thanks for this Don," Savannah said sincerely.

Although grim faced, his tone was gentle. "Never a problem as far as you are concerned. Now…got your gun?"

"Check."

"Knife?"

"Yes."

"Those kick-ass defence moves we've been working on for almost a year?"

"Double check," replied Savannah, with some of the worry leaving her expression at the reminder of how capable she was. Don gave her a quick smile, brushing his fingers over her cheek.

"Then you go and let the world know just how much you are not to be messed with," he said. "Go and have a nice dinner with your friends and family. I might be finishing up late but I'll let myself in with the key. I won't leave you alone tonight."

"I'll be careful," promised Savannah, noticing the underlying unease in his expression.

"Thatta girl." He looked around furtively before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Love you."

"Love you too," she whispered, before both of them headed back towards the main area and back to Flack's desk. Jacks looked comfortable, chatting with a handcuffed teenager two desks over. Now that Flack knew about the issue, she seemed much better about the problem. She looked up as the couple returned. When Savannah nodded, she smiled and stood, holding out her bag wordlessly.

"Save some soup for me," said Flack.

"Will do," replied the brunette, drinking in the sight of him before turning and leaving with Jacks in tow.

* * *

"You kidding me? Apart from Savannah's prints, there is _nothing_ on this blasted thing?"

Flack looked incredulously between Mac and Adam, hoping that it was just their idea of a prank. Seeing Mac's grim face and Adam's jumpiness, he guessed that maybe he shouldn't have shouted that. He glanced back to the results in the file, the evidence photos that only showed Savannah's fingerprints and no one else's. "So you're saying that there are no prints or DNA from another person and there's nothing unique about it in any way, shape, or form except for the fact it carried a threat?" he clarified.

"Well I checked online, the white ink pens with this particular blend of elements can be found at practically any craft store and there was nothing unique about it – it wasn't an expensive brand or anything like that. And the same with the black paper. Can be gotten at any arts and crafts store, office places, things like that. They are too generic," Adam explained, clicking his pen rapidly as he felt the tension from the tall detective radiating off him.

"What about handwriting?" Flack pressed.

"I ran it through the database, nothing," Mac replied dourly. He shook his head. "Hell of a thing. Whoever sent the letter was very smart. I don't like it."

"Join the club," muttered Don, crossing his arms, pissed off to the nth degree. "What more can we do? I've already have a GPS on her and she's armed, but it's not like it's practical to be with her all the time because of my job and it's not important enough of a threat to get a uni on her."

"Not to mention she'll hate that. And since when does Anna have a GPS on her?" Mac asked sceptically.

"She doesn't know. When a link on that necklace I gave her broke, I took it in for repairs and I got the jeweller to put a GPS in it. It only works within New York though. I got it just in case," Flack explained, ignoring Mac's look of 'you're gonna be in a pile of shit when she realises that.' "I just can't help but think about how she felt after Wallace and what he did to her. I don't want to see her like that again."

"We all don't," Adam added.

Flack just huffed, annoyed. Savannah was…Savannah. She was kind a lot of a time. What did she do to deserve this shit? He thanked the two CSI's for their time and asked them to keep the results just in case something happened. All of this would be off the record until something else more serious came along or actually had some evidence to run with. He headed back to the precinct and finished up on the work he was doing. Witnesses to revisit, suspects to chase in the morning and evidence for cases pending were all noted and stored. He finally headed off to Savannah's apartment, having not made it out too late.

When he got there, Don opened the door to find Jo and Savannah sharing cups of tea at the table while Ellie slept soundly on her brother Tyler's shoulder. "Fun for the whole family in the Cormier house today?" he quipped.

"You bet," winked Jo. "Had ourselves some great gumbo made by Masterchef over here."

"And before you ask, yes, we did save you some," Savannah chipped in, smiling up at Don as he came over and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You guys are so sweet together it makes me jealous," Jo teased.

"Definitely should be," Don teased back.

"If I could only find someone…you have an older brother at all Don?"

"Married," Savannah replied.

"And too young for you. Unless you're a cougar?" Flack grinned as Jo rolled her eyes and Savannah chuckled softly. "Cougar Jo. Sounds like a cool nickname if you ask me. Can I put that down as the dispatch name for your vehicle?"

"Not if you value your dignity. I'll paint you bright bubblegum pink and your car too if you do," the older woman bantered back. When Savannah laughed at that, the look on her face softened and Don understood that part of that had been an attempt to cheer Savannah up. Jo's friendship was certainly an invaluable thing.

"If it wasn't for the fact he'd be moody for a few days, I'd pay to see that," the younger woman said.

"Hey!"

"Admit it Don, it's pretty funny," Jo said.

"Not for me," he gesticulated. He pulled up a seat and stole a sip of his girlfriend's tea, hiding his grimace at the taste. Not sweet enough. Still, it was hot and he needed it. "And pink? Come on Danville, you can do better than that. That's minor leagues."

"You're honestly giving me ideas," Jo mentioned.

"Actually Don, I think you're right. It would be more humiliating for you if we painted it pastel rainbow and put unicorns and flowers all over the car. Oh! And just to top it off, we should decorate it with Mets merchandise," Savannah described with a cheeky raise of her eyebrow.

Jo and Don stared at her in amazement.

"That's…actually pretty good Anna," complimented the older woman.

"Shit," Flack muttered when he realised that his poor car decorated like that would rate high on the top 5 embarrassing things ever. "I have got to stop challenging you."

"You think you would have learned by now," replied the curly haired brunette leaning back and tilting her head to the side so she could see his eyes.

Jo, alike her second cousin in her perceptiveness, could feel the chemistry emanating from the two and realised it was probably the best time to leave and still be polite. She drained her tea and patted Savannah's hand. "It was great to get a taste of home. Thanks for inviting me and the kids over tonight, it was nice to finally meet your famous Aunt Emilie," she said warmly.

They stood and hugged, Tyler seeing the cue to leave and helping his slumbering adopted sister off the couch. After the couple said their goodbyes and the little family left, Don and Savannah wandered off to her bedroom and laid down on the bed, fully clothed, just wanting to spend time in each other's company.

"Mac didn't find anything on the note," Don informed her softly, playing with a curl absentmindedly.

"I half expected that," Savannah said. She curled into him, laying her head on his chest. "I feel better about it though, now that you know."

"So do I."

"Mmm…" she hummed, leaning up and searching for comfort, pressing her lips to his. Don eagerly reciprocated, his hands moving to slide into her hair, cup the nape of her neck. It didn't go anything further than kissing. It was pure consolation – what Savannah needed desperately.

* * *

**A/N: The plot thickens. :D Credit to Smuffly for inspiring me with the anonymous letters. I plotted this around the same time 'Malicious Intent' was being written and I thought the vicious letters would add to the drama I'm building up. **

**Reviews my darlings?**


	9. When it gets hard

**A/n: THIS IS A LONG CHAPTER! So make sure you're comfortable before reading. Thank you so much to Kayla, Smuffly, JJ, SomebodyWhoCares, Leslie Emm, and Annabella Colt for such warm, encouraging reviews. I hope you enjoy this long rollercoaster chapter. I'm biting my nails in anticipation.**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Swearing, violence (sorry Don!) and some sensitive subject matter in the kidnapping of children.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 9 – When it gets hard…**

* * *

_Won't someone lend me a helping hand  
Time is up to do the time that's left undone  
It's time to grab my hat, grab my coat, I gotta load my gun  
Silly things always are the ones that turn out worst_

**The Screaming Jets – Helping Hand**

* * *

The shift had begun relatively normal for Flack.

It had been a bitch to get up at 3am to get to the precinct by 4am, but he had done it before some annoying dispatch woman woke him up. He had not even sat down at his desk when the first call out had come in. A double homicide on Riverside and West 101st was his to deal with. He grabbed a cup of that sludge that passed for coffee in the precinct on his way out.

When he got there and found the vics ID's, he couldn't help the smirk. Oh, he had a lot of material with names like these.

"What have we got?" Mac asked as he came into the apartment, Danny trailing behind.

"You're gonna love this," Flack said. "Checked their ID's. The woman is a 24 year old call girl. She has the Angel Wing stamp on her hand which means she's part of the Angels that work the west side. The male is thirty, owns the apartment."

"Do we have names?" questioned Danny.

"Yeah. We have a Mr. Ashton Marton who evidently took Helen Zaas for a booty call."

"Ooh, 7.5 on that one Flack," Danny grinned.

"Couldn't resist," he replied as Mac rolled his eyes and crouched towards the bodies. "Anyway, talked to the super, he's pulling the security footage from last night and I talked to the doorman before you got here – he said that these two were apparently all over each other when they returned to the building at around 10.30 last night. Said no one else came through the front doors for the rest of his shift. So I have a feeling that you guys are going to be looking for evidence in the service entrances then."

Mac nodded, gloving up and reaching for tweezers. "I haven't seen these in a while," he remarked.

"Seen what?"

Both Danny and Don watched in fascination as Mac leant over the female victim, grasped something shiny and pointy from the wound in her abdomen and pulled it out.

A ninja throwing star.

Danny went to the male vic, looking at the wound in the neck and seeing the same silver glint in the tract. Carefully, he photographed it and extracted another throwing star. He held it up to the light and said, "Looks like some kind of inscription. Hard to see under the blood...I'll get it back to the lab to be analysed."

"I think we're looking for a very skilled killer," Mac said.

"What made you think that? The ninja star, the lack of evident struggle, or the tidiness of the place?" Flack asked sarcastically.

Mac ignored the tone and pointed to the female victim's neck. "The bruising on her neck looks like one hard, clean strike. Someone strong, someone who knew just where to strike to debilitate her before causing exsanguination to her stomach with the ninja star. Looks like both bled out where they fell, no evidence of movement of the bodies. Sid will have to confirm that there is bruising on the male vic to confirm my theory," he explained, gesturing to the relevant clues.

Danny looked around the room. He frowned. "Killer got away extremely clean. No blood trails, no bloody footprints...must have thrown the stars and run." He quickly sighted another throwing star in the far corner of the room. "Boom!" he cried, hurrying over to photograph it and collect it. "Here we go with the inscription. Some initials...ah."

"What are they, might give me something to run with," prompted Flack impatiently at Danny's hesitation.

"S. E. X.," answered Danny with a little grin.

"...well that's awkward. I could totally understand why someone would get some sick skills in having initials like that," the taller detective deadpanned, holding in his smirk. He made a note in his memo book. "I'll look up how many people in New York could have those initials and see if they happen to belong to some kind of martial arts club or have any affiliation with the throwing thingy's."

"Throwing thingy's? Are you going to put that in your report?" Mac asked amusedly.

Flack gave Mac one of his special sceptic looks and shook his head. "Only if I'm feeling suicidal."

* * *

Only five people in New York had those exact initials. Only one had caught Flack's eye. Soong Enlai Xian, a martial arts instructor on the West Side. He had done a little internet research into the club he ran and found that Xian specialised in weapon aided attacks in various kinds of martial arts. It wasn't limited to the throwing stars. He was talented with knives, Samurai swords, stick fighting, and all manner of bladed weapons. While he fit the profile, the detective couldn't see a direct connection between the victims and the man. On the face of it, the only thing that he could find was a common location – the West Side. Ashton Marton had never taken a lesson with the Xian martial arts institute, and neither had Helen Zaas.

The only thing that could be plausible was that perhaps Xian had used Helen Zaas's 'services,' but surely there had to be more to the story to establish a connection.

As if hearing his inner conundrum, Flack's cell rang. It was Mac. "We processed the sheets from Helen Zaas's apartment and she had a few donors of DNA on there. We had our male vic and two other profiles. One of them was in CODIS – Danny checked him out, he has an alibi, so that leaves the other DNA. And that DNA is a match to the epithelials on the third throwing star. What have you got?"

Flack flicked over the information he pulled up. "Possible suspect. His initials match what's on the stars: Soong Enlai Xian. And he owns a martial arts institute on the West Side. Squeaky clean, not even a parking ticket," he informed the older detective.

"Well I think it's time to pay Mr. Xian a visit so maybe he can explain why his throwing stars were in our crime scene."

"You read my mind. I'll see if I can get a warrant for DNA."

"See you there Flack," said Mac and hung up.

An hour later, the two detectives rounded up two uni's to go with them to the Xian Institute as backup just in case Xian was feeling less than hospitable. They would reach the institute just after it opened at 9am. Flack had managed to secure a warrant for Xian's DNA and Mac had taken the paper from him as they arrived at the building where the martial arts lessons were held on the fourth floor. Mac took the lead, entering the foyer first. The walls were painted a rich crimson and Chinese symbols were painted in gold around the cornices. A leaping tiger stitched into a silk panel was framed above the simple desk holding a computer and a few business cards. It was deserted. Both detectives searched the area and edged down a hall to the left of the desk. They could hear a voice grunting 'kiai!' as they approached a wide open area filled with equipment.

Flack decided to announce themselves. "Mr. Xian? NYPD, we have a few questions for you."

Xian came into view as they entered the room. He was an average sized Chinese man in his late 20's, bare chested and footed, wearing loose white pants and sporting taped wrists. He turned from where he was practicing on a martial arts dummy and gave a bow of his head. "What can I do for you detectives?" he asked in perfect English. He appeared polite and calm.

Mac and Don moved forward, both nodding their heads as they crossed the exercise mats. "Unfortunately we're not here to book some lessons for our officers. Got a few questions for you. Where were you last night around midnight?"Flack asked.

"I was at home. Sleeping," Xian answered.

"Anyone that can verify that?"

"No. I live alone and have no doorman," the Chinese man replied. He seemed bored as he glanced between the two detectives. "May I ask why you are questioning me?"

The older detective reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the photos of Zaas and Marton and showing them to Xian. "Recognise these people?" he asked.

"No."

Flack had watched Xian closely as he replied and instantly knew that the man was lying. As soon as he had gazed at the pictures, a vein in his jaw began to tick noticeably underneath the skin. He tensed, ready to reach for either gun or handcuffs. "You sure? They were murdered last night. Look again," he instructed.

Flat black eyes stared steadily back. "I'm sure."

"Really? Well then how do you explain these throwing stars that we found in and near the bodies with the initials S.E.X on them? Your exact initials, a rather unique set of initials," Mac pressed intensely, revealing a third photo with the three gleaming weapons, the engraving of the initials all too visible. "No other person in New York has these initials with your particular skill set. And while you're thinking about that…we have a warrant for your DNA."

Xian saw his stars and knew he shouldn't have been so rash in using his favourite weapons. As Mac held out the warrant, the Chinese man darted backwards, reaching for the martial arts dummy and hurled it at the two detectives. Flack, who was ready for something unexpected, managed to dive out of the way as the heavy workout tool collided with Mac, sending them both tumbling to the ground with a hefty crash. Xian took his chance and sprinted for the entrance, not caring to look back.

Don looked between the suspect and his friend, torn between going after him for justice and taking care of Mac.

"Go! I'm fine!" Mac cried.

Decision made for him, the tall detective chased after Xian. The front door was thrown open and he followed it out, twisting his head from side to side to catch a glimpse of the perp. He heard something clatter towards the left, and he headed that way, pulling his gun. There was an emergency set of stairs that Xian had obviously gone down, and Flack kept his legs pumping, breathing deeply to get more oxygen into his system to catch up. He saw a flash of white a flight of stairs below and felt encouraged. He leapt down, hearing the bashing of a door being forced open. Second floor.

In hindsight, Flack realised he should have known Xian had meant to give him an indication of where he was.

As he darted through the door, gun out, something hard thwacked into his abdomen with the force of a wrestler's punch, causing him to stumble with a loud "Oof!" Before he could recover, the same something slammed across his cheekbone, sending him falling onto his side as stars burst in front of his eyes in pain. Another heavy blow smacked into his stomach again.

"Chī shǐ!" Xian insulted, dropping the nunchucks at a dazed Flack's head and speeding away, escaping as the blue eyed detective struggled to make it upright. Supporting himself against the wall, he gingerly reached up and felt along his left cheek, grimacing as it stung. He saw a bit of blood on his fingertips and growled. It hurt like a bitch. And he felt like someone had jumped on his stomach a few times for fun, he was so sore – he was probably going to have a nice big purple bruise forming.

And Xian had gotten away.

Regretting that he hasn't been smart enough to sense the attack, Flack got out clean hanky from his pocket and wrapped it around the nunchucks, picking them up. If the bastard was stupid enough to leave his weapon here after knocking him around, he would use it against Xian. He slowly made his way back up to the Institute where Mac was on the phone with dispatch. Upon seeing his bloody cheek, his eyes widened and he finished the call abruptly. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked.

Don just held up the nunchucks in answer.

Mac's eyes narrowed. "Gave you a hell of a cut under your eye. At least an inch long," he remarked.

"Yeah, well, the metal is rough along the ends. I think Xian did it on purpose," Flack replied, showing him the weapon and pointing out the metal capped ends.

"Good thing you collected it. We know Xian used it. If his DNA on the handles confirms all our suspicions, he's our murderer. We just need to find motive."

Flack just grunted in agreement, too annoyed about the fact he had been taken down by three hard blows.

It should have been the first indication that today wasn't going to be his day.

* * *

Mac had given him some quick first aid with the kit he had in the Avalanche before they headed back to the precinct to lodge all the information they had. Flack had barely been back at his desk for an hour when dispatch alerted him that a suspect he had been looking for on a different case that had been sitting idle for a month had just used the dead victim's credit card. Although sore and grumpy – he had been hoping to call Savannah to get her to deliver something – he went, hoping that new questioning of Ronald Irving would yield better results.

Getting to the SoHo bakery where the card had been used, Flack glimpsed Irving easily. He was a large, chubby man, whose little piggy brown eyes were alight with glee as he feasted on a family size pecan pie. On the table in front of him was a banana cream pie, just waiting to be eaten.

Flack shook his head slightly. Such a nice pie was a waste on a guy who just wolfed it down.

He entered the bakery and headed over to the table and sat down. "You know, I love using my dead friends credit cards to fund everything I do," he said casually.

Irving looked up, recognising him with a little squeak. "Oh Detective Flack! What a surprise to see you here! And…I'm not quite sure what you mean," he blathered shrilly.

"Don't play the game," Flack said bluntly. "Technical guys smarter than you were tracking Oliver Gump's cards. A man who was meant to be your friend. A man who was murdered. A quick call to the manager of this place and we got your description. Don't lie to me. Why the hell are you using Gump's cards?"

Irving looked distinctly nervous and he stammered, "I t-told you before…I didn't kill him. Oliver was m-my closest friend. He would have wanted me to use his money. And I didn't even have his wallet! I got given it a few days ago. I was walking by and thought that I might as well get a pie with the money. Honest!" He shifted on the seat, making it creak under his bulk as he suffered under the cynical gaze of the detective. To hide it, he gobbled up another bit of pecan pie.

"And just who was this person that gave you the wallet?"

"Reggie Julks. Oliver's friend from the pottery class he was doing. Just dropped by and gave it to me," Irving replied.

Flack checked his memo book for his notes from the Gump murder. The suspects that had the least credible alibi's had been Gump's girlfriend, Allie, and Reggie. Looks like they had a new lead. Nodding, he said, "Fair enough. I'm going to need that wallet to confirm your story."

Irving wavered for a second before sighing and handing it over. Flack grabbed some napkins from the holder, wrapped the wallet in them, and placed it in his jeans pocket. "Good. Now, unfortunately, I'm going to have to take you downtown."

"But why?" cried Irving, lurching back in his seat. "I've cooperated!"

"Yeah, but you used another person's credit card. That's still illegal," Flack pointed out.

"That's unfair," whined the big man.

"What are you gonna do, huh? Life isn't fair," the detective grumbled.

It seemed like Irving didn't understand that the question had been rhetorical. Like a huffy diva, he stood, grabbed the banana cream pie, leant over the table and slammed it down over Flack's head. He squeaked like a stuck pig at realising what he had just done and waddled out of the shop as fast as his feet could carry him.

Flack was honestly too stunned to chase after him.

He was covered in gooey, sticky pie from his head down to his chest. His maroon top was now covered in the mess and he could feel it sliding sickly down his neck. He blinked the cream away from his eyes, all too aware of the crowd in the bakery staring at him with wide eyes. A kid giggled. A serving boy snickered. And soon people all around were hiding their smirks at his embarrassment. Disgruntled, Flack reached up and scooped the custard, crumb base, and cream off his face and hair and tried to wipe it onto the pie packet in a somewhat dignified fashion.

A serving girl had the sense to come up to him with a wet rag. "Here. Don't worry about the mess," she said.

"Yeah. Thanks," grumbled the detective, getting as much off as he could. He knew that he wouldn't be able to go home and have a shower so the precinct showers would have to do. And he didn't exactly have a fondness for the communal bathrooms. He stalked out, fighting the urge to rip off the sticky shirt and just head back to the precinct in his undershirt. He had a spare shirt in his locker but for the long minutes that he was in his car trying not to ruin the upholstery, he was uncomfortable and irritated.

It seemed to show as he arrived back at the police department, for people seemed to shy away from him as he stomped to the bathrooms and cleaned himself off. The one good thing Flack found about the hot shower was that it helped to soothe the aches from the bruising on his stomach from the morning attack.

Clean, with a new pair of jeans and button down, Flack went back to his desk and immediately called for some uni's to round up Reggie Julks to question him further. If he could just wrap this up, maybe being marinated in banana cream pie wouldn't have been so bad.

* * *

An hour later, a smirking Flack walked out of the interrogation room, a handcuffed Reggie Julks being led away to the cells.

The idiot had finally confessed that he had choked Oliver Gump to death over jealousy of his prize-winning pottery. It was petty, but at least Flack felt he could call up Gump's elderly mother and give her the closure that she had needed. Once that had been done, he checked the clock. Only three in the afternoon. His shift was slated to finish soon at 4pm. Hopefully he could make it to Savannah's cafe just as it closed.

A vibration from the phone in his pocket alerted Don to a text.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

I've got risotto made. I'll head to your apartment when I'm done, I've got the key remember? I'll wait up :)

* * *

He let a slight smile warm his face. He didn't bother replying because he hoped to surprise her with picking her up so they could head back to his apartment later. Risotto sounded damn good after the hell of a day he had.

The loud ringing of a few cell phones, including his own, deviated Flack from his more pleasant thoughts. He snapped to attention, checking the text message sent from dispatch. As he looked down at the alert, his heart sank.

A kidnapping situation.

Three children from Chelsea Kindergarten had been taken about an hour ago by two men armed with guns.

Flack felt his pulse race and he fought not to clench his hand and shatter the screen on his phone. He looked up, seeing Detectives Graham and Waverly staring at their own phones with grim expressions. "You guys caught it too?" he asked as he stood, holstering his gun.

The buxom redhead nodded. "Yep. Kidnapping of three kids."

"Must be pretty big if they're sending the three of us out there," Graham commented.

"Let's take your truck Graham, my car's low on fuel," the taller detective suggested.

The three got their bulletproof vests and other equipment before heading out to the kindergarten. When they arrived an hour later, they were behind a long line of squad cars and CSI Avalanche's, their lights flashing a blue and red show upon other vehicles and buildings. Flack took the lead, marching into the scene purposefully, ignoring the slight twinges in his abdominal region. He saw Jo and Lindsay, both women looking like they wanted to tear someone a new asshole.

"What's up?" Flack asked.

"I think you better see it rather than us trying to explain," Lindsay murmured quietly, heading for one of the Avalanche's with a big box full of evidence. Jo looked after her colleague in concern before beckoning to the three detectives, showing them the scene filled with officers, crying children, paramedics, and frantic parents trying to collect their kids and tuck them away, safe at home. It was chaos. The kindergarten doors had obviously been broken down with a heavy amount of force, and instead of the cheerful and peaceful aura of a child haven – with the adorable finger paintings and orderly storybooks and learning toys – the illusion had been shattered with bullet holes and splatters of blood. A mockery of scarlet paint looking like a child had flicked a large brush to and fro.

"Bastards," Graham muttered darkly. Flack knew that this impacted him more than usual because Graham had a seven year old boy in junior school.

"They are cruel and unusual in New York City," Kirsti remarked, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I'll be sure to send the kidnappers to Atlantic City if they're that bored," Flack quipped unsmilingly. "Jo, what's with the blood?"

"One of the teachers got hit in the shoulder. She's going to be okay, but she was bleeding pretty badly. These kids saw it all, and three are missing," the CSI said, a fire and passion in her voice as she looked around at the children being tended to.

"They're pretty shaken up," Don observed.

"I hope that they are young enough that they will forget easily," Jo said.

Don was about to ask where he was needed when he saw a little boy with flame-red hair. He did a double take and then realised he was being stupid. Callum Brent, a boy he had helped rescue last year, was 12 now. He wouldn't be in with this group of youngsters. But the boy now reminded him very strongly of the happily adopted Callum and it resonated deeply in him. "What are we here for?" he asked brusquely.

"Lindsay's headed back to the lab to analyse the evidence but there's a tip line up and reports have been flooding in just as you got here. We're waiting on a lead from the public to send you three after in a preliminary chase. From what I heard from Mac, the higher ups want these kids found, and fast, so they're pulling in as many as they can from other precincts and cases," Jo informed him, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a quick squeeze. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he replied.

Graham, hearing the exchange, nodded and went out the front to a police van where three officers were monitoring the lines.

Waverly couldn't stop staring around. "Poor kids," she murmured, subdued by the atrocity that had taken place.

Flack felt a touch of empathy for the young detective then. "Yeah. It's never a good feeling when shit like this happens. Just because a parent of a kid is rich or has something the kidnapper wants, it's not fair on the kid. It's our job to get these back to their families safe and sound. Up for it?"

"Yes."

Flack waved to Jo as he and Waverly headed out to the tent that was designated for the tip line. Graham was in there, speaking rapidly to one of the officers. Hearing them enter, he turned with a fierce expression etched on his face. "First credible tip. They're moving up through Washington Heights and heading towards the Bronx. Two red Honda Civics with black stripes down the side, just like the kindergarten teachers reported seeing through the windows," he explained. "These guys have radioed the city control and they're going to raise the trap up after they cross the bridge."

"They better. There's a lot of hidey holes in the Bronx," Flack added. "We've got the first jump?"

"Yep, with some officers following."

The three detectives were back in the car again, Graham driving like he was trying to slip out of the gates of hell, lights flashing, sirens keening their warning into the streets.

"You've been working with me too much, you're starting to drive like me," said Flack as Graham took a corner on two wheels, violently jerking the wheel.

"True. But I hate kidnappings. They're my sore spot, you know that," the slightly older detective explained.

Flack nodded, knowing that it was fortunate that kidnappings weren't as frequent as murder. It would tear slowly at each detective's heart because when cases involved children it was harder to keep a cool head and not get emotionally involved in some way. Everyone was a child once. And many had children of their own.

Finally making it through the north of Manhattan, Graham floored it as they crossed the bridge, hopping onto the emergency lane, not heeding the angry traffic. They could see the barriers that had risen out of the street, two crumpled, smoking forms of the Honda's described by Graham resting in front of them. As they pulled out next to them, Flack and Waverly jumped out of the car and raced to the wrecks. Flack's frown scrunched up his forehead more as he saw that there was no one in or around the cars. He peeked in, knowing that these where the cars instantly. He could smell urine – probably from the frightened kids – and fruit juice. He saw a child's baseball cap in the front passenger seat. He took out his phone and double checked the information. Jo had sent him as much info as she could garner from the situation while Graham had torn up the tarmac. One of the boys taken had worn a green Hulk hat. That same hat was in the totalled car.

"Definitely the cars. They couldn't have gone far on foot," he announced, standing up.

"I've got a Barbie doll over here. Wasn't one of the children a girl?" Waverly said, holding up the toy.

"Two boys, one girl. According to what the CSI's have just sent me, all of the parents are fairly wealthy and one parent from each family all work at Floorer and Grants Insurance. Maybe someone got pissed off with their policy and decided to take revenge," theorised Flack.

Graham nodded to the warehouses not too far away. "I think they would have gone that way. All the other buildings around here are either too obvious or aren't big enough to hide three kids from the world. And where the hell is that back-up?"

As if to answer the disgruntled question, the three heard sirens coming nearer to them.

"Come on, let's see if the scumbags are hanging around," Flack said. "Waverly, secure this scene and don't you move until another detective or officer takes over." At the redhead's nod, the two marched over to the warehouses that looked empty now that the work day was over. They held their guns out in front of them as their eyes honed in on any activity coming from the warehouses they crept around. A flapping sound made them pause near a paper supplies place, but it turned out to be a tarpaulin outside of the door flapping in the wind.

They continued their search as the seconds tumbled into minutes and the minutes stretched onwards towards the hour.

Then, a gunshot split the air, sending both men diving for cover.

"NYPD!" they shouted. They were in front of a kitchenware storehouse. Flack looked up from behind the trashcan he had hid behind to see a swarthy face sneering from a high window. Next to the man was the sleek barrel of a gun.

'_Shit,'_ he thought.

"We haven't even made our ransom yet!" the man shouted down to them.

"How do you even know what we're here for?" Graham cried back from his shelter of an advertising sign.

"Oh…so you're not looking for this then?" the man replied, bending down for a moment before bringing a blubbering little boy up to the window.

Flack and Graham both lowered their guns a fraction and Flack called, "What the hell do you want? What will it take for you to let the children go?"

"We want half a million in cash!" another voice cried from the next window. He was not as large as the first but had a mean, hungry look about him and was not as dark-skinned. He held up the little girl. "Give us what we want and no one gets hurt."

"Give us some time to get negotiations down here!" Graham said, and at his words, Flack was immediately on the phone to dispatch, letting them know about the situation. "If you hurt those children every single cop in New York is going to come after you – you best keep that in mind."

"If you keep in mind how you're gonna explain to their parents how their little ones got dead cos we didn't get the money," the first goon taunted.

The children were silent, but even from the ground the two detectives could tell that fresh tears streamed down their faces at the threat. "We gotta get 'em," Flack said.

"How far away is the negotiations team?"

"Less than fifteen minutes, they were planning for this."

One hour had passed: the negotiations team set up, trying to bargain with the kidnappers for the release of one child in exchange for $100 000, an amount that the wealthiest parents had managed to procure. One child had been released, but not without a brutal beating that had almost knocked the poor girl unconscious.

Two hours had passed: tensions rose when the kidnappers threatened to cut off a finger and send it down if more money wasn't given to them. The other families had got $50 000 with promise of more to come. Flack had run this amount up, ropes upon ropes of restraint preventing him from acting like a Wild West cowboy and bursting in there to rescue the scared children. Instead he dropped the money at the door, hoping that his quick looks of assurance to the kids had helped them hold on enough.

Three hours had passed: The parents of the two boys revealed they couldn't get any more money out in the time they had. They simply didn't have enough at hand. A plan was devised to have the NYPD bring up fake money while a select team would go in through the windows and get the children away safely. Flack and Graham volunteered to be the team going in through the front door.

Three and a half hours had passed…

Flack felt the sweat gathering at his temples, from concentrating on the hastily thrown together plan (which he did not like at all), and from the humid air in the warehouse. The only week in April to have an unseasonal heatwave and it had to be the week this happened. When the grip on his gun needed to be sure, not slightly slippery. When there were two kids lives in peril. He and Graham held the two bags full of shredded paper to substitute for cash, knowing that this entire plan hinged on crossed fingers for hope that the two thugs would be too angry at him and Graham for tricking them to turn on the kids. With the butt of his gun, he knocked at the door.

"Ah-ah cops, you need to have those guns away if you want passage," one of the men called.

Grimacing, both Graham and Flack holstered their weapons, feeling bare without them.

The door creaked open slowly and cold ebony eyes peered out, seeing the big, heavy bags. Silver plated teeth were bared in a belligerent snarl. "Yo, Carl, come here, they've got the rest of the goods for Pops," he said behind him.

The other, paler man appeared, his eyes lighting up with greed. "Good thing too, those kids were gonna get an ass whuppin' if I had to listen to them snivelling anymore."

"Then why the hell did you choose to kidnap 'em?" Flack questioned acerbically before he could stop himself.

The first one with the freaky teeth just grunted, "Shut up and get in here, nice and slow, put the bags down with your hands in view. Don't want any funny business."

Graham took the lead slowly, his dark hazel eyes burning with simmering anger. He went over to a ramshackle bench in the office space the kidnappers had holed themselves up in and placed his bags down. Flack followed suit, keeping his eyes ahead, not looking into the other room where other members of the team were stealthily rescuing the children.

"Open them up," Carl ordered.

Flack cursed internally. This, they hadn't predicted. "Why?"

"Because I want you to." The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking echoed in the space. "Or would you prefer Option B?"

Biting back a snappy retort, the taller detective slowly unzipped the bag and stepped back. In the seconds that the first man walked near to him to check out the fake money, he made a quick plan of action in his head. He looked at Graham, flicking his eyes to and from him to Carl and back again. Graham understood, inclining his head the tiniest bit.

"Yo, Carl…this isn't money, it's just paper!" the darker skinned man bellowed.

"Double crossers!" Carl screamed, his gun turning towards the room that the kids had been in, taking a step in that direction.

Flack darted forward under the larger man's outstretched arm, grabbing Carl's gun arm and struggling to turn it towards the ceiling. He almost succeeded too, until he heard a surprised cry from Graham in warning. A heavy hand slammed into his side, sending him and his challenger to the ground as their hands grappled with the gun. Graham managed to divert the larger opponent away from the two wrestling on the floor. Flack cried out again as Carl kicked him in the shin, making him more determined than ever. He used both hands to push Carl's fingers back, hearing them crack and a resulting howl of pain. Finally, he could get that gun out of the way. "You're under arrest for the kidnapping and ransom of three children!" he shouted as he got Carl on his stomach and handcuffed his hands together. "Sick son of a bitch," he cursed at the still struggling Carl, looking like a captured worm.

"Arggh!"

Flack looked up, seeing the other man with his hands around Graham's neck. "Get off him asshole!" he barked, grabbing an arm and wrenching it away, managing to get his partner some air.

"Give it to him Bart!" the handcuffed offender said.

Bart, smelling fresh meat, grabbed Flack by his shirt, lifting him up as he struggled, punching, kicking out, not seeming to move the mountain of a man. He was tossed to the floor, his whole face an expression of pain as Bart looked down at him in glee. With every ounce of strength he had, Flack scrambled backwards, reaching for his gun as he saw the big Bart reach for his own in his waistband.

"Flack!" shouted Graham, trying to rise from his exhausted slump.

The blue eyes saw the gun pointing in his direction and he inhaled sharply, forcing his body to move even through the hurt he was in as he lifted his own shaking arm and fired.

Two guns fired.

Cordite in the air.

A man fell to the ground, a bullet lodged in his chest. Blood seeped from the wound as the breath left him, the stink of copper filling the humid atmosphere.

Flack growled out in pain and dismay as he felt the bulletproof vest protect him from death, but the impact of the bullet damaged his already sore abdomen from earlier in the day. He reached down, plucking the still hot bullet from the vest and tucked it into his pocket before ripping the vest off so he could check his bruising. It hurt to move fast but it was needed. He needed to see the damage.

His purple bruise from the nunchucks in the morning was coloured even darker thanks to the force of the bullet slamming into the vest.

"Christ Flack…that was close," Graham rasped, finally able to stand and shuffle over to his colleague, who was white with pain as his breathing turned hoarse. "For a moment there I was afraid of having to tell your girl you were a goner."

"I'd be afraid of that too if I were you," Don managed to joke weakly, even as the sensations exploded outwards from his sore stomach area. They dwarfed his exhaustion, the aches in his shin, back, shoulder, and head. With the help of the slightly older detective, he got upright, feeling dizzy and pissed off. "Fuck, this was so messed up."

"Tell me about it. Next time, you can take on Goliath first."

"Yeah, remember that next time you approve me to take on the guy with a cocked and loaded gun."

A medic met the two detectives at the door. Not wanting to deal with the tutting woman, Flack pushed Graham towards her before limping to the hostage negotiations tent. He had to see with his own eyes that the two boys were alive and breathing and safe with their families. He was welcomed by other officers and the other families, thanking him for his service. He was barely aware of it all. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. After praising the children for being so brave, Flack caught a ride back with an officer to the station, successfully avoiding the medics.

Bureaucracy couldn't be put off, no matter how drained he was. He was still well enough to make his report to his Captain.

Another half an hour passed before his report was done, and Flack was running on fumes at this point. Captain Haplan came into the bullpen, saw him sitting there with splatters of blood on his shirt, saw his bruises and cursed Detective Flack's perseverance. "Flack, get the hell home…because asking you to go to a medic would be too much I think," he said, taking the finished report from the detective's weary, shaking hands. "You've been on shift for almost 17 hours. You're taking the day tomorrow after the spirit you showed tonight…I heard it all from Graham."

"But Cap-"

"You argue with me and I won't drive you home like I was planning. Come on son, you've pulled some good work today," the grizzled older man ordered not unkindly. He pulled Flack along despite his protests.

After a short ride to his apartment, Don waved his thanks to his captain as the man pulled away from the curb in a taxi. He was suddenly really grateful that his apartment building had an elevator. He was in that state of tiredness where he was worn to the bone, but knew that he was still wired and wouldn't fall asleep for another hour at least. He was just trying to scrape his key into the lock when his door swung open.

Wide, worried green-grey eyes met his.

"I saw on the news…the kidnapping. Oh baby," Savannah breathed, in seeing his dishevelled and wounded state. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she took his hand, leading him inside his apartment – and he let her.

Savannah noticed that his eyes were tired and haunted. The things he must have seen and done today had completely wrecked him inside. She hated it when Don did this to himself, but she accepted it. It was part of who he was and in his consuming need to see justice served in his job. She settled him on his bed, knowing that he was going to crash at any second, and rushed to his bathroom for the medicine kit.

Seeing his condition as he sat on his bed, resting his head in his hands, Savannah deducted, "You didn't see a doctor, did you?"

Don shook his head wearily in a negative.

"Oh, you idiot," she berated quietly.

"Savannah…I can't deal with some medical monkey right now. I was already lectured by my captain. I just want…hell, I don't even know, but I know I don't want anything other than to be here at home," he replied.

Savannah heard the wrung out exhaustion in his voice and backed down, just nodding. She wouldn't argue with this right now. Tomorrow she would nag him to get things checked out, but for tonight, Don was hers to take care of. Without a word, she kneeled in front of him and tended to his hands first. With gentle touches and tender hands, she cleaned each and every cut and bruise with anti-septic and then unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his limp and exhausted frame. She then stripped off his under-singlet and sucked in a gasp at the bloom of black and blue and purple that stretched across once beautiful and clean skin.

"Dear Lord, what did they do to you?" she asked softly, trailing her fingertips feather-light over the bruises.

"You should see the other guy."

"Dead?"

"Yeah. Thank God for bulletproof, huh."

Savannah bit her lip, struggling not to overwhelm Don with the emotions she felt upon seeing his injuries and hearing just why his injuries were so severe. He didn't need her weepy. He needed her to be his rock right now. She felt for him. She knew these hurts – it was just not fair that he experienced them more often than most. "Let's see the rest of the damage then."

Unprotesting, Flack watched with a kind of detached curiosity as his girlfriend stripped him of his torn and bloody jeans, taking all of his ruined clothes away, leaving him in his boxers. He winced as he felt his muscles lock, reminding him with every twitch of just how much action he had seen. He grunted as he tried to stand.

"Shh, let me take care of you," Savannah ordered empathetically, holding up a warm, wet cloth and forced him back down onto the bed. "You can shower in the morning."

Don decided not to fight her at all then. He was just too damned tired.

Savannah was careful and gentle, laying the warm cloth over the most bruised and sore areas before looking into his soulful blue eyes. He needed connection. Connection she was all too willing to gift to him.

She started with the cut underneath his left eye, brushing her lips over the thin strips that held the skin together, before moving slowly to his mouth. She nibbled on his lips, feeling him attempt to respond but his fatigued mind not being able to coherently send the right commands to his lips. Her eyes told him that it was okay. His eyes replied that it wasn't. Silently, Savannah comforted Don, wrapping her arms around him and making sure not to touch the sore areas. Weakly, a hand reached up to stroke her dark, dark brown curls. She moved on to his neck, shoulders, and chest, kissing the aches as if to make them better with some magic, and then to his abdomen where she tenderly laid her mouth over every inch of the bruised skin. Don sighed at her gentleness, her compassion in the quiet of his room. He felt some peace enter his somnolent soul then and he leaned back.

"Just one more minute sugar…I just want to put some cream on these nasty things," the brunette whispered, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out the salve.

Don barely remembered her applying the soothing gels and creams all over his wounds. The next thing he was aware of was that she was helping him move up the bed and the softness of his pillow underneath his head. He moaned in relief as he felt his comforter being drawn up around his shoulders and a fragrant, curvy body lying alongside of his own in a simple negligee.

"You staying?" he managed to ask.

"Until the morning, I'll be here. I'll only leave when you feel okay. Sleep Don…I'll be here when you wake up," Savannah crooned, a hand sliding up to card through his hair in a habitual, affectionate gesture and a warm, sweet hum filling his ears.

It sent him off into a deep, still sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Whoo, that was a lot to write. So…reviews for the hungry muse who went all out just to impress you? I deeply appreciate your support in any way. **


	10. Reality Bites

**A/N: I was really pleased to get such wonderful reviews for the last, massive chapter. This chapter is also long, but not **_**quite**_** as long as the other one. To Smuffly, SomebodyWhoCares, Kayla, JJ, Annabella Colt and Leslie Emm, you guys rock. Keep up the fantastic dedication with your reviewing. Thank you also to anyone who follows or favourites me or this fic! You rock too. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Mild swearing, drama, and be braced if you don't like a creepy crawly. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 10 – Reality Bites**

* * *

_You're intruding on what's mine  
And you're taking up my time  
Don't have the courage inside me  
To tell you, "Please let me be"_

**No Doubt – Spiderwebs**

* * *

Waking the next morning was not pleasant.

Don gasped as all his senses awoke and fired up the soreness and aches from the previous days' efforts as a detective. He gritted his teeth and froze, trying to analyse what hurt the most.

"Shh, shh," a familiar voice whispered to him and dark curls came into his bleary vision. "Easy Don, try to relax. Relax, come on, you can do it."

That melodic voice helped a great deal and Don found that he was able to relax enough so that he felt he could actually breathe again. Savannah's concerned face looked down at him from where she was kneeling, her hand rubbing over his chest. "That's it," she crooned.

"Shit," he groaned.

"I know. You look like it."

"Thanks," Don replied sardonically.

"No problem. Do you think you can shift to the side so I can help you up? I'm running a bath for you and put in all those lovely things like Epsom salts and Radox. It should help you to at least get around," Savannah said. At Don's nod, she helped him to rise from the bed and supported him as they shuffled into the bathroom. "I can thank you for all those gym sessions you've been dragging me to now. When I have to drag you anywhere it helps."

"Would you like to kill my esteem more?" he asked.

"It's either this or me turning into a blubbering, weeping mess," Savannah returned placidly, her voice almost betraying the conflicting emotions roiling in her. She helped him to the vanity where he supported himself while she turned off the taps to the showerhead that had filled the tub. Turning, she paused at seeing the bruise stretching across half of her lover's torso. Seeing it in the stark daylight was worse than seeing it late at night.

"Anna," Don whispered.

She looked up from the injury to the pained blue eyes. "I know, I know, I can't wallow."

"I wasn't going to tell you off for that. You care so much," he pointed out. "I just wanted to let you know that you always do a good job of playing nursemaid and that I appreciate it."

"Who else is going to do it? Adam?" Savannah teased lightly, getting him to smirk back. "You think you can manage to get in by yourself?"

"Yeah," Don replied.

"Okay, good. I'm going to go make some oats if I can find anything in that disorganised pantry of yours."

Don pulled a face. "Oatmeal?"

"Don't give me that look. You like it perfectly fine once I sweeten it with honey and banana," Savannah reminded him with an affectionate smile. "It will also go down easier than bacon and eggs and probably be healthier as well."

"Don't mention the 'H' word. It's better that I don't know it's good for me," he joked.

Savannah found herself shaking her head amusedly as she always did around Don and leaving him to his bath. When she went to the pantry and opened it up, she almost felt like ordering something in. There was no sense of order at all to Don's pantry, and if she wasn't around it was like a garden full of weeds – getting worse and worse by the day. Sighing, the brunette quickly went to work, putting the cereals up the top (finding the oatmeal mix in the process) and then organising everything like she organised her food stores at the cafe. Pasta and rice went on the shelf below the cereals, canned food was placed towards the bottom, the few onions he had were placed in a tray on the floor shelf and she put the junk food items like biscuits and sweets in the middle. There was no point trying to hiding them – she had tried that once to see what Don would do and he managed to tear his pantry apart to find his packet of jelly snakes.

She was just putting some milk on the boil when a knock came at the door.

"Yo, Don, you awake?"

It was Danny.

Savannah went to the door and opened it, seeing Danny there with two coffees in his hands. He looked slightly surprised to see her answering Don's door, but gave her a grin anyway. "Hey hey, good morning to you," he said.

"Morning. One of those for Don?"

"Yeah. Came by to tell him some good news and see how he was feeling," Danny replied, stepping in and following Savannah back to the kitchen where she tended to the oats. Through his glasses, the Italian took in the scene – how Savannah looked like she just belonged in Flack's apartment and was comfortable there – and couldn't but help being a little curious. "Did you move in or something and Flack didn't tell us?"

Savannah bit her lip to stop the snappy retort that wanted to spill. Danny couldn't help that he was interested and honestly wanted to know. It didn't stop the momentary sting she felt as yet another person asked her if she and Don were living together. It felt like pressure. "No," she replied quietly. "I was just here last night to have dinner, and when I heard about the kidnapping…I stayed to make sure he was okay."

"Oh. Okay, well, good," Danny replied, sensing that something he said made Savannah a little touchy.

"Hey, can you do me a favour? Can you stir this while I let Don know you're here?" she asked, hoping to prevent the ever intuitive Danny from figuring her out.

"You're trusting me to not make a mess with food?"

"Danny, I've had that awesome Fettuccine Napoli of yours. Of course I do," Savannah replied with a short laugh. "I'm sure you can handle oatmeal." Before he could protest further, she pressed the wooden spoon into his chest and sidestepped around him. She smirked as she heard him grumbling about pushy cafe owners. Entering the bathroom, she announced, "Danny's here. Just so you know. And he brought you coffee."

Don, floating in his tub all relaxed thanks to the salts and hot water, groaned. "Aw, I was just getting happy."

"I don't think he's bringing bad news. Might have something to do with your cases though, because he didn't expand on it further," Savannah replied, leaning against the wall.

Sighing, Don sat up, wincing as the motions pulled at his aching body. At least he could actually move now instead of locking at every step. "I'll be out in a sec," he murmured.

"I'll get some clothes for you. Can't have you parading half naked down the hallway in a towel."

"I can't be embarrassed in front of Danny that way. He's accidentally walked on me a few times," Don revealed with a cheeky smirk.

"Let me guess…younger days?"

"Yeah."

Savannah rolled her eyes and walked away to fetch him some clothes. She looked through his casual wear, trying to find material that wouldn't irritate his scrapes and bruises. Soft cotton was therefore the order of the day. She grabbed a dark green shirt and his work-out pants, hoping that whatever Danny was here for wouldn't give Don cause to leave instead of resting. She returned, watching in silence as Don slowly levered himself out of the tub and stood, Ordinarily, she would have admired his body but all she could see that bruise, like a visible cancer. "Here's your clothes. Yell if you need me." Savannah left the offer at that, knowing that Don needed to do this on his own.

Going back into the kitchen, the brunette was pleasantly surprised to find that, despite his doubts, Danny could look after oatmeal. "Nice work," she complimented, taking the spoon from him and nudging him with her hip.

"It's Lucy's favourite," he shrugged.

"Ah! I knew you could handle it," she crowed in delight.

"CSI's can handle almost anything. Is this part of this nursemaid routine you got going on here?" Danny asked, gesturing towards the pot.

"Yes."

Cheekily, he waggled his eyebrows and asked, "So where's the nurse outfit?"

Rolling her eyes for the second time that day, Savannah got a tea towel and whipped it in Danny's direction, causing him to flinch back as it flicked against his chest. He laughed and put up boxers fists playfully. "Come on girlie, I can take ya," he said.

"No you couldn't."

They both turned to see Don taking in the scene with indulgent amusement. He moved slower than normal but at least he was moving regularly. He moved to his girlfriend and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and peeked into the pot, wrinkling his nose. "I can't believe I let you feed me this stuff," he complained.

"Because you used to love it as a kid. Your mother told me that there was a week where you demanded nothing but the stuff for breakfast," Savannah said, raising an eyebrow in challenge, making Danny snicker.

"Watch it Messer, you know she can find stuff out on you too," Don said to his friend.

"Especially now that I've got Jo," she went on innocently.

The two men looked at each other. "We're screwed," they chorused.

Savannah's bright peals of laughter rung throughout the kitchen as she nudged the two out of her way to get to the bowls in a cupboard. "Sit down and do your detective business and I'll see if I can do what Jesus did with the loaves of bread and the fish and feed the two of you from what we've got," she said.

As Savannah hummed around the kitchen, Danny and Don moved to his table, Don gratefully taking the coffee. "What's up?" he asked.

"Swung by to let you know that early this morning a couple of uni's and I managed to track down Xian. Not only does all the evidence lead back to him for the Marton and Zaas murders, but we eventually found out his motive for killing them. Helen's buddy Jewel we interviewed at her apartment said that Xian was getting sweet on Helen and wanted to make her hang up her hooker heels. When she refused…seems like he got a little pissed," Danny explained.

"A little? Yeah, I would call murdering someone as being a little pissed."

Danny smirked at Don's usual sarcasm. "Yeah, well, he didn't give us a confession, but the evidence buries him. Not to mention the extra charge of assault against an officer that we're pinning on him. He had plenty of things to say in Chinese about that when we mentioned it," he replied.

"I'm sure," snorted Don. "Anything else?"

"Mac said to tell you that we all heard of you being at the Chelsea kidnapping last night and the danger you put yourself in for the kids. Man, that's rough," Danny said quietly, conveying with that simple statement his never ending support for his friend.

"Thanks. It was all worth it in the end. I hated the plan though – Graham and I couldn't get in a word edgewise and if we had one more person with us I don't think I'd be as sore as I am right now," Don reflected in a murmur.

Danny winced sympathetically, seeing the cut on his face and a few scrapes on his arms and instinctively knowing that there was more covered by clothing. Any further conversation was halted by the arrival of Savannah with food. She placed bowls of the breakfast she had filled with chopped banana and honey in front of the two men and returned a moment later with a plate with a small stack of buttered toast with jars of peanut butter and jam in her other hand.

"Breakfast is served. If you guys will excuse me, I'll just call Jacks to make sure everything got off well at the cafe," the curly haired woman informed them, moving away again to grab her cell phone and to take the call out on Flack's balcony.

Seeing the spread before them, Danny's stomach rumbled and he licked his lips. "Yum. I'm so jealous. Too bad she hasn't moved in with you, you would be so spoiled every day," he said.

"Don't even mention the subject to Anna. She hates being asked." Seeing the Italian's guilty look, Don sighed and emphasised his New Yorker accent with a drawl, "Wait, don't tell me, you already asked."

"Yeah, just before. And if it wasn't for the fact I'm so cute and innocent I'd have sworn she was going to bite my head off."

"And she would too," Don pointed out as he took a bite of his oatmeal. He chewed thoughtfully and replied, "I'm cool with it, I'm all for giving her time. I just have no idea what she's waiting for."

"The same thing went through my head when after I asked Lindsay to marry me the first time. It happens buddy," advised Danny in an unusually sage manner. The sound of a door sliding open indicated that Savannah was coming back in and the subject was dropped in favour of eagerly filling their empty bellies. Savannah appeared a little occupied as she dropped into a chair, grabbing a slice of toast and pulling some notepaper and pen out of her bag. As she scribbled, Don noticed the slight frown creasing the skin between her eyebrows.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Yeah, Amy isn't coming in today. I have to leave unfortunately," she replied in a truly regretful tone. She looked up with worried eyes. "Are you going to be alright if I leave?"

"Yeah, the bath helped," Don replied.

"I can stay for an hour or two, I'm off right now," offered Danny.

"Make sure he sees a doctor then, please. Even Sid is fine, but you need to have that bruise checked out," Savannah cautioned her boyfriend lightly. She gathered up her belongings and turned to her friend and her lover. "I mean it Don. I'm concerned about it and the fact you didn't get someone to look at it last night."

"Fine," he agreed.

Giving a look to Danny to make sure he would see to it to get Don some medical attention, Savannah hugged him, and then hugged and briefly kissed the Irish detective, waving farewell as she rushed out. Danny and Don looked at each other as the door clicked shut.

"The possibility of her killing me if I don't force you to see a doctor?"

"High," replied Don. "Especially now Jo's in town."

"Well…who do you prefer, Sid or Hawkes?" asked Danny.

"Hawkes, hands down. I'd prefer not to be checked out in the morgue."

* * *

A few days later, although still a bit bruised, Flack had made a speedy recovery and was able to be back at catching the villains of New York full time. He and Detective Waverly took a break after interrogating a few suspects to a drowning case and made their way to the Comfort Cafe. Under Flack's tutelage, Kirsti had become more bearable for the NYPD and she found that submitting to a sweeter nature with those she worked with got her further than she did being overconfident. Her male colleagues were less wary of her and she had managed to get more flirty with a few of them – although she kept quiet about her crush on the taken Flack.

Kirsti was silent as they made their way to the cafe. She would prefer not to see the cafe owner and would have liked not to go there at all because it was the girlfriend's territory.

But she felt she could play it to her advantage if she could find some more evidence of this Sam person that Hannah or Savannah or whatever her name was, was seeing behind Flack's back.

"…and while her schnitzel is great, I'm really looking forward to having the filo rolls she made yesterday stuffed with chicken, bacon, mushrooms, and cheese. Mmm."

Kirsti felt her eye twitch. She had been hearing to him prattle on about his miraculous girlfriend's culinary achievements. "That's nice, but I'll just be having a salad. I can't eat anything heavy during the day," she simpered.

"Suit yourself," Flack shrugged as he pulled into the side alley next to the cafe. "She'll be happy to make whatever you feel like."

"That's nice," replied Kirsti, exiting the car and thinking venomously, '_What if I feel like a detective tied up on a platter? I doubt she'd let go that easy.'_

As they entered, Flack smiled widely at seeing Savannah serving her regular, Mrs. Baker, at the cash register. He crossed the floor until he made it there. After Mrs. Baker moved away, he gave her a quick wink and mischievously said, "Well hey there miss. I'd like your special of the day and I'd also like to order one of you for some activities later tonight."

Savannah laughed that melodic laugh he loved so much and said, "You're a dork."

"Is that a yes?"

"Barring natural disaster or anything else of the kind, yes. I would love to spend some quality time with you tonight," she replied, reaching up to cradle the side of his face, affectionately and gently rubbing her thumb over the almost healed cut on his left cheek.

"Ahem."

Flack looked back, remembering that he had brought a guest along. The joy fading from his face to be replaced with business, he asked, "Savannah, you remember Detective Waverly?"

Savannah stiffened momentarily before nodding. "Yeah…she wanted to arrest me as I so rightly recall," she said lightly.

Kirsti bristled at the reminder, feeling even smaller than her height of 5'4 at the comment. She just fixed a pleasant expression on her face and replied, "Yeah, well, you did set me straight after all."

Don, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two women, went on, "A filo would hit the spot if you got any left. And Kirsti wanted a salad or something."

"Ooh, do you like a Caesar salad or we've got this mango chicken salad which is great-"

"No, nothing like that," Kirsti interrupted dismissively, a flash of smugness festering within her at seeing the brunette's wide, surprised eyes. '_That's right, I can control this,'_ she thought. "No, that's all too heavy for me. All I want is lettuce, carrot, and cucumber on a plate. No dressing or anything like that, I have to watch my figure after all." She then gestured at her washboard flat abs, taut with muscle.

Savannah did all she could not to reach forward and claw the redhead's eyes out at that. That had been a deliberate, calculated allusion to her own hips and curvy figure. Deciding to be the bigger person, she simply wrote down the order and waved them towards Don's usual table. She hastened to the kitchen, putting the order in and then breezing past her workers to the office and sitting at the desk, resting her head in her hand. Her temper had been sparked by Kirsti's comment. She didn't want Don to pick up on it and question her about it, because he still had to work with her and Savannah didn't want to cause friction there. In the line of detective work, he needed someone he could rely on and she didn't want to jeopardise that with something petty.

Taking a deep breath, the brunette went back out into the kitchen, nodding at Harper washing the dishes and to Bertha, the cook she got in during the week. She prepared both the filo and the salad, making sure to wash the salad ingredients an extra time so as to ensure the crisp freshness of the vegetables.

As she went out to bring them the food, Savannah noted Kirsti's choice in clothing – recalling what Lindsay and Jo had said about her a few weeks ago about her wearing studs and spikes – and seeing that the apparel was mostly the same but without the harsh embellishments. Skin tight grey jeans, expensive looking high-heeled black boots and a tight black shirt that seemed to be lower cut than necessary. It just didn't seem like gear that one would wear to go chasing criminals around New York.

"Here you go guys...if you'll excuse me, I just have to serve," she murmured, not meeting their eyes as she turned and left.

Don looked after her, noting that it seemed that the serving girls seemed to have everything under control. That wasn't like Savannah to not stick around for a minute, but he let it go. His girlfriend had a method to her madness that never failed to surprise him. He turned back to Waverly and began to discuss the case again.

A little while later, Flack got a message from Sheldon about DNA results from their suspects. With a curt nod to Kirsti, he went outside to make the call.

While he was gone, Kirsti surveyed the room uninterestedly and curled her upper lip. It was all so...loud. Bright colours. Nothing about it muted and it was all in your face. She was a fan of bright colours…on clothing. To have so many in the scenery seemed wrong to her – from the burnt orange wall at the back, the blue tables, gleaming white chairs, yellow mugs, a bold red coffee machine and the browns of the wood that made up the counter and benches. Shaking her head slightly, the redhead noted that her hair probably clashed horribly with the decor. How was she meant to look attractive like that?

She was tapping her nails on the table impatiently when she noticed that Cormier woman get a phone call and she seemed to light up. Instantly, Kirsti's suspicions were piqued. She hadn't been like that around her so-called boyfriend. It must be that Sam person. Thinking quickly, she grabbed her own cell out of her pocket and set it up to record the conversation.

And Kirsti couldn't believe what she heard.

"Hey Sam! How're you doing?...Haha, no, I've been better. What's that? Don being his usual annoying self? I'll bet," Savannah said affectionately into the phone.

A pause.

"Hey, listen, we can't let him know at all. Well, yes I know it's dishonest. Look Sam, he doesn't have to know, boyfriend or not. Look, I'll come over sometime this week."

Pause.

"Duh, as if I'd let him know. He might be a detective but no way is he finding this out." She then laughed at something Sam said. "Okay, I'll talk to you soon. Bye Sam!"

As Savannah hung up, she was unaware of the finger that stopped a recording of her voice as evidence and completely ignorant of the poisonous glare pointed at her by a certain redheaded detective.

Kirsti couldn't believe it. That was evidence, solid, that Cormier was having an affair. Excitement pulsed within her. Oh how she couldn't wait to break them apart and get Don for herself. Every day that she worked with him fuelled her fantasies every night. She wanted Flack and she was determined to get him. Even if she screwed a few of the insignificant officers around the PD to satisfy herself before she got to him.

But she wouldn't show Flack this evidence yet. No, she had other plans for this cheating Savannah Cormier.

* * *

Counting the money from the til was no longer a soothing routine anymore.

Ever since the thefts of the money, Savannah couldn't just mindlessly do it and multitask by thinking about other things. No, she had to put her full concentration into counting every slip of cash, every coin to make sure everything was right. So far, the thief had stolen another $150 from the til a few days ago, and it was making the cafe owner nervous. It troubled her that whoever it was had not even come to her for help or not even shown any indication of guilt or remorse. It made her both angry and embarrassed that she couldn't catch them in the act.

She and Jacks had called a staff meeting yesterday and emphasised that if the person taking the money had come forward right then and there that no police involvement would occur.

Not one person had come forward.

However, Savannah was hesitant to call on her friends in the Crime Lab to overlook the saved security footage of the days she had been robbed. The fact that she couldn't pick it either by observation of body language or by viewing the video made her feel a bit like a failure – like what kind of businesswoman was she to have someone steal from her?

Today, her grey-green eyes looked from the register total to what she had counted. Exactly equal.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Savannah put the money in her safe and went out the front to lock the door and leave.

A black envelope was taped to the door, conspicuous against the clear window. Spiky, bold white writing with her last name scrawled across it. It was slightly larger than the last one she had received.

Savannah went cold.

Feeling like her insides solidified like lead and locked in place, Savannah grabbed her bag and flicked off the lights, moving outside and staring at the ink coloured paper hanging from the one stripe of tape. Carefully, she unstuck it from the window and kept the tape sealed to the envelope just in case there was evidence on it. With shaking fingers, she opened it up and reached in to grasp the black card.

As her fingertips closed over the card, she felt something move in the envelope. Something was alive in there! Yelping, she jerked her hand back but not before something with fangs scuttled up and bit into her hand. With a cry, Savannah looked down, seeing a black spider about the size of her palm clinging to her skin with angry intent. Frantic, panicked, she shook her hand wildly and it made the creature angrier – making it release more venom into her bloodstream.

A stranger going past the shop came to her rescue, shouting, "Hold still!" When Savannah paused in horror at the spider on her hand, the man used his cane and knocked it off. Before anyone could blink, it scurried away into the abyss of the New York streets.

"Are you okay Miss?" asked the mid-50's gentleman.

"Fine," Savannah replied shakily, cradling her hand protectively, biting her lip to keep her mind off the sting and the fear she had felt.

The man didn't look convinced but bent down, picking up the menacing dark envelope whose contents she hadn't had a chance to see. "You dropped this."

"Thank you. Thank you so very much. If you want, drop by my cafe when I'm open and the cake will be on me," Savannah offered, her gratitude shining through for the man who had thought to help her. She took the envelope, feeling sick to her stomach at the thought someone had been malicious enough to put a spider in there.

"It was no trouble. I'll take you up on that kind offer, Miss." And with a nod, the gentleman left.

Moving out of the main footpath, Savannah carefully checked to see if another unpleasant surprise was waiting for her before taking the note out.

In the same white gel ink as the last letter, a more direct statement had been sent to her.

"_A WOMAN LIKE YOU DOES NOT DESERVE HIM."_

"Oh my gosh," she breathed, feeling her heart thudding somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. She scanned the area, and then realised it was futile. She would need to get this to Don, right away. Someone was stalking her, and she had a feeling that now they knew the reason. Dread that had filled her upon the sight of the spider intensified. As she sped down the sidewalk to get to the subway, one hand held onto her bag tightly while the other clenched around the pocketknife in her jeans pocket.

Once on the train ten minutes later, Savannah regretted that she had run so fast. She felt a little dizzy as the train rocketed on to get her closer to the 12th precinct.

Getting off the train, the dizziness got worse but she ignored it to rush up to ground level.

She didn't feel safe at all until she was in the NYPD.

By the time she stumbled through the doors an hour after receiving the letter, the woozy feeling had increased and she knew she wasn't walking straight, like she was drop dead drunk. A few officers in the lobby looked at her oddly, but she made it up to the desk and asked for her usual visitors tag. A woman possessed, she went into the bullpen, her eyes only focussing on one thing.

Don.

She must have looked worse than she felt for instantly he was up, rushing towards her.

It was Deja Vu of the day she had come in with the first note.

"Savannah?" he asked anxiously. "What's the matter? You've broken out in a sweat and you look like you're going to pass out at any second."

Savannah was oblivious to the curious eyes that followed the unfolding drama and held out the black envelope. "It's another one…another letter," she murmured, her voice trembling on the last syllable.

"Let me get a glove," Don replied. Graham heard him and tossed him a spare from his own desk. As he slipped it on, he took the note and glanced over it, growling low in his throat. "The bastard."

"I'm being stalked," she said quietly. She went to move closer, but wavered unsteadily on her two feet. Nausea came on fast and strong and she suddenly raised a hand to her mouth. "Uh…Don…I'm gonna sick up."

Disbelief and shock flashed across his handsome features briefly before he grabbed the nearest desk bin, shoving it into Savannah's hands just as she collapsed and her body gave into the nausea with a long, pained retch. Don winced at hearing her and knew she would be so humiliated at having done so in front of people who she liked and respected and did the same to her in turn. The protective side took over and her gently held her hair away from her face to make sure it didn't get matted with muck.

"_Is she pregnant?"_

"_Gross…I wonder if she got wasted."_

"_Poor Anna."_

The whispers started immediately and it sent Don's mind into high gear. As Savannah coughed to clear her mouth of the last bits of vomit, he asked, "What caused this?"

"I don't know…but there was a spider in the envelope. It bit me," she revealed weakly, holding her left hand up and showing the two angry marks where the fangs marked her. A woebegone expression etched on her face and she turned back to the bin, dry heaving and coughing again.

Realisation dawning, Flack barked to Graham, "Go into interrogation room 4, Dr. Hawkes is in there. Get him to come out here immediately with a first aid kit, she's been bitten by a poisonous spider."

Ripples of surprise went through the room at that – that their beloved cafe owner had been affected in such a way. A minute later Sheldon ran in, seeing Savannah and Don on the floor before his desk, Savannah with glassy eyes and a pasty face. There was none of her usual merriment or twinkle and it reminded them all of how she had looked after the kidnapping. Medical knowledge flowed through his thoughts as he kneeled and took long look at the bites marring Savannah's hand.

"How long ago were you bitten Anna?" the doctor asked, grimacing at the bite area.

"Uhh…an hour ago? Maybe a little longer?" she replied dazedly, whimpering as she fought off another dry heave.

A bolt of alarm shot through Hawkes then. "Must be either a Black Widow or a Brown Recluse, and neither of them are common in New York," he informed them rapidly, carefully taking Savannah's pulse. "Your pulse is faster than I'd like, probably circulated the venom faster than normal making the effect take hold quicker. Thank God you made your way here, if you got home and collapsed we might not have caught it so early." He looked to Don, supporting his girlfriend with a grim set to his features. "I've got some antidote here for common spider bites, not for anything like this. It'll relieve some symptoms, but I need you to call the nearest medical centre and get them to run over some anti-venom for both those spiders. If we give it to her now, she won't have to go to a hospital."

"On it," replied Flack, reluctantly leaving Savannah to make the call. He could only watch as Hawkes helped to get her up and sitting on a chair instead of the floor, injecting something into her vein. The good doctor then applied a cool cloth to her face, wiping away the sweat. Remembering the envelope, he also called Mac to get down to the precinct ASAP.

Ten minutes later both the anti-venom and Mac arrived. The medic with the medicine the brunette woman needed went straight to Hawkes while Mac marched over to Don. With a quick sympathetic glance to Savannah, Mac said lowly in a voice of thunder, "Show me."

Silently, Don handed over the envelope and the letter it contained. Mac had brought down his evidence kit and quickly filed it in evidence bags before glaring at the white message blazed across the paper. His eyes were like lasers, scrutinising the offending script. Glancing back up again, the older detective noted Don's stance, the rigid pose he held himself in as his forehead crinkled in his familiar frown. He felt just as pissed off as Flack's body language indicated.

"I'll take this back to the lab. This is going to have to be an official investigation now that the perp caused Anna grievous bodily harm," Mac stated sourly.

"Okay."

One word answers. Not good. Mac warned, "Purge the anger before she gets completely well."

"I know. She'll pick up on it," Don replied tightly.

Mac paused for another moment before inclining his head and making his way out of the precinct with determination in his stride.

* * *

A few hours later, like Hawkes had said, the anti-venom had done its job and Savannah was well enough again to stand without assistance – though she still felt a little queasy. It didn't stop Don from insisting that she stay over at his apartment for the night just in case. Luckily, the detectives and officers in the bullpen had respectfully decided not to mention her sudden sickness and her recovery. They acted like nothing unusual had happened, which the pair was grateful for. An official investigation was going to be conducted and the letters would have their own case folder.

Mac had called Flack as they reached his apartment building and informed him that nothing except for Savannah's fingerprints and the DNA of the spider had been found. The CSI then informed them that a female Black Widow had attacked her and caused her to have such a severe reaction. The cafe owner had looked stricken at finding out that one of the most dangerous spiders in existence had been placed in the envelope specifically to hurt her.

Up in Don's apartment, resting outside on his balcony with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders and a pizza in front of them, Savannah leaned her head on her lover's shoulder and said tonelessly, "Someone's trying to break us up."

"I know."

"I don't understand. Why? Why go through all this stalking and threats," she mused miserably. She sighed as Don's arm wrapped around her and held her tight.

"Why? Because people are sick and you happened to pick one up," he replied. Her expression was blank as it surveyed the scenery of the Brooklyn Bridge and Don pursed his lips as he thought about the right words to say. "Savannah, the best people we know are on this. They'll find whoever it is sooner or later. Don't forget, you are one of the strongest women I know. You can take anything anyone can throw at you."

"But how much can they throw before I'm overwhelmed?"

"Don't think like that," he scolded.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I'm just a bit stressed about this."

Brushing his lips over the soft skin of her cheek, Don said, "It's completely understandable."

Warmth spread from the tips of Savannah's toes to the roots of her hair as Don held her close. By his simple, honest words and his touch she felt loved. For that moment, love was enough to scare away all her suspicions and misgivings about the letters.

* * *

**A/N: *singsongs* Can you all see where this is leading? I'm really putting Savannah through the wringer here (blame my muse! She's been hanging out with Smuffly's too much). Regardless, hope you enjoyed the unfolding drama and reviews are wonderful and cherished. **


	11. Insecurity

**A/N: I'm posting this a little earlier in my day because I have to dash off to work soon! Thank you as always to the amazing people who review: Smuffly, SomebodyWhoCares, Leslie Emm, Kayla, Annabella Colt, and JJ. We got to 50 reviews! Whoooooo-hoo!**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Implied sex and nakedness. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 11 – Insecurity**

* * *

_You're so mean when you talk  
About yourself, you were wrong  
Change the voices in your head  
Make them like you instead_

**P!nk – Perfect**

* * *

**Savannah POV**

I throw another dress I've just tried on off to the side and stare sulkily at my image in the mirror of me in my lingerie. Even that I feel like ripping off in frustration.

I'm supposed to be blissfully be getting ready for an early dinner with Don at that awesome Italian place in Little Italy with Jo and Mac to let off a little steam after the whole spider bite melodrama that occurred three days ago.

_Supposed to_ being the key phrase.

No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to reconcile to myself that I should be proud and happy with just who I am, the words from the last stalker note come back to me. '_A woman like you does not deserve him.' _It was definitely referring to my relationship with Don.

Deserve…

Do I really deserve him? That's the question that's been tumbling in my mind like some wayward ever-rolling dice ever since.

I know I'm being beyond pathetic. I'm letting the words get to me when I shouldn't, but as I look in the mirror, I can't help but feel a bit inadequate and plain. I'm nothing special. I've just tried to live my life and be kind as I can (which is admittedly sometimes really, really hard). I have no idea how on Earth I managed to land such a man as Don Flack.

I mean…look at me!

Turning to the side, I sigh. As many times as I've been to the gym or have gone for a jog around the block or the park – I've lost about 18 pounds in the past year thanks to that, I've become more toned, healthier, and stronger – but I can't seem to budge that tiny little swell of my belly before it goes down to my crotch area. It's like I'm incapable of having a completely flat stomach. Again, I know Don doesn't care. In fact, when we're relaxing he usually lays his head there while he reads his dog-eared copy of 'War and Peace.' Not to mention he seems to have a fascination with my bigger-than-most-skinny-New-York-women hips and my ass. He usually grips a hip in the middle of making love to hold me tighter as he rocks into me (which usually has me seeing stars every time). He tells me over and over again just how much he loves me, loves my curves, and loves my body in its entirety.

But it would be nice if I was just a little more evenly proportioned in the hip area.

Like oh so _perfect_ little Miss Kirsti Waverly.

I _shouldn't_ be jealous of her. She's a total witch for flirting with Don. But I am. And I hate that I am jealous of her. She's got that waist length bright red hair that is sadly natural but looks like it came out of a bottle of hair colour and it always looks perfect. She's got those crazy Elizabeth Taylor eyes and that pearly white smile, those Angelina Jolie lips and the skinny body with the big boobs. She's practically walked out of an airbrushed magazine cover and straight into the NYPD.

I've never wanted to be wolf-whistled at like some of the guys do to her, and I've never wanted attention like she has. It's the freedom to wear some things whenever I go out and not constantly think: 'Should I have chosen a longer dress?' or 'Should I get something with some hideous looking ruffles up the top to distract from my hips?' Little things like that which happens to bug me on occasion. Kirsti always appears so well put together that I wonder if she has a little assistant running around after her to powder her face every half an hour to keep her looking good.

Turning back front ways, I try to get rid of that despondent expression on my face. I am lucky to be healthy and not be overweight. But I do have body confidence issues sometimes and Don picks up on them way too easily. When he does, he always kisses me like the world is going to end tomorrow and looks me deep in the eyes with those riveting blue ones of his own and tells me just how much he thinks I'm sexy and hot and how much he needs me. It gives me shivers every single time.

Now, it just feels like I'm even more pathetic. Hello! I need my _boyfriend_ to assure me of how good I look. That shouldn't have to happen. I should be confident and comfortable in my own skin.

Should, should, should. That's what _should_ happen.

"Arggghh," I hiss in frustration, flopping back on my bed. I'm just so…annoyed at myself.

On the one hand I don't care what anyone thinks of me, who I am and what I look like, they can take me or leave me as I am.

On the other hand, there's that little, girlish part of me that brings up the insecurity, whispers dark things to me about how I'm just not good enough, and that I never will be no matter how hard I try. That little voice that has been in my mind from the first day I saw death as a 22 year old when I found my mother in bed, gone from cancer. The small part of me that has been fed viciously by these stupid letters.

"Snap out of it, get a grip, get over it," I say to myself, making it a personal litany.

I can't have this on my plate. Especially with my money woes at the cafe. As busy and as profitable as my business is, it rubs me up the wrong way that I have been stolen from and someone continues to do so! The total of money is now $525. I know I'm being bigheaded and stubborn because I haven't mentioned it to Don or Mac or Jo or any of my other law enforcement friends. They're fantastic, they really are, and they would bend over backwards to help me – they certainly have with my stalker situation, although it has been fruitless so far. However, I feel like I need to solve this mystery on my own. They may be the detectives but the fact my instincts haven't pointed me to suspect a particular person gives me the motivation to sniff out the clues on my own.

Ah. There I go. Thinking again when I really should be getting ready and forgetting about the day to day stresses. Tonight it's just going to be a nice relaxing night with friends.

Getting up off the bed I rummage through my wardrobe again. I have to have _something_ in here that I'll be happy with.

I only have a few dresses for going out, about seven, which is small compared to Stella's collection of around 30! And trust me, I saw her clothing closet once after a night out and Don had to come pick us up because we had a few too many. One thing I clearly remember was the amount of dresses she had, it was crazy. Me? I've got stacks of jeans and shorts, but only a few dresses.

Maybe I should opt for a skirt?

I really need to go shopping. Maybe Sam and I can go and do that sometime soon instead of shopping for the supplies she needs for her project she's got going on.

I peruse my clothing again and grab my trusty black pencil skirt with the small side slit. Now, for a shirt…I see a spot of muted bronze peeking out of two black work shirts pressed together. Bronze? What on earth do I have that's bronze coloured? Oh, hang on, that blouse I bought thanks to Lindsay's pressuring. I bring it out to the light. I haven't worn it since I bought it, simply because I know it'll make Don a very distracted man if I wear it.

You know what? Fuck it. I'm not feeling the most confident right now. This will hopefully give me that extra zing I've been needing to my stressful days.

As I slide it on, I remember why I got it – the material is nice and soft and flatters my upper body. My shoulders are bared as the off the shoulder sleeves just cling to my upper arms. The neckline is perfectly straight from the sleeves save for the v-shaped two inch dip in the middle to show off a bit of my cleavage. The rest of the blouse is clingy without being tight, following the flow of my body. The necklace Don gave me sparkles in the light and is all the decoration I really need on my neck.

I survey the ensemble critically. It's nice and dressy without being overly fancy and I'm actually feeling well put together for once. My hair is behaving tonight and falling in loose, free curls and that new concealer I purchased the other day to hide the bags underneath my eyes is doing wonders.

A short, sharp knock sounds off at my door before I hear Don enter. "NYPD, we're here for a Ms. Cormier. It says on this warrant she's charged with being pretty."

Oh I needed to hear his voice, low and soothing and so smart aleck-y – I didn't realise how much until I heard him. Look, I'm already grinning!

Popping my head out, I reply, "In here handsome."

He cants his head to the side. "Are you even dressed yet? We have to be there soon," he says, and I realise the way I've put my head out with only a shoulder showing from the doorjamb makes it appear like I'm not wearing anything.

"Just a sec. I need to get my heels on and add a touch of lippie and we're good to go."

I bend over to pinch the straps of my high heels to drag them out from under my bed when I hear Don's footsteps and then hear a pause. I look behind me to find he's standing in the doorway with a smug smirk as he cops a view of my behind. I see his eyes darken and twinkle madly with some dirty thoughts as I straighten and raise an eyebrow at him.

"Whatever you're thinking, hold the thought until much later," I say knowingly.

He pouts. "But they're such _good_ thoughts," he murmurs lowly.

That's enough to make me blush. "Sugar, we're going to dinner with two of our best friends who happen to be detectives and probably have the ability to sense when we want to rush through dinner and get it on. You know Jo's been trying to get some information out of me about your…er…performances in doing the horizontal mambo," I reply. "If she picks up what you're thinking about, she's definitely going to make some comment."

"You're forgetting something."

"What?"

"We can both dish out just as good as Jo gives," Don smirks.

I blink and then grin back. "Now that's a funny thought."

He moves closer to me, those large hands settling on my waist. Secure. Sending tingles from that spot up to my head. Don's just looking at me with that beautiful smile and my heart seems to beat twice as fast and I feel like I'm floating on air whenever we're together like this. I tilt my head up as he leans down and kisses me ardently, and I go from floating straight up to cloud nine. Mmm, those lips are strong and talented – and for the moments he kisses me I always get a thrill and I feel all wiggly inside. In those moments, I forget about the world. Even when it's kissing after a minor squabble. Everything really does fade away.

"Mmm," I hum as he pulls away, and then giggle as I see his face. He's got my lipstick smeared on him again. "Hang on, let me clean you up. You have a bad habit of kissing me just after I've put on lipstick."

He reached up to touch his face and glimpses the proof on his fingers. He shrugs. "All that means is that other people will get jealous that I've kissed you," he banters.

I raise my questioning eyebrow again. "You're down on your game Don, I was expecting something that would split my sides in laughter," I rib him playfully.

"Challenge accepted."

"You're a nut."

"So are you. Now, we have to go," Don enunciates, grabbing my hand and leading me out of my apartment.

* * *

Dinner had been a highly enjoyable affair. It was nice to see Mac out of the lab, heaven knows that he's married to the job. He was without his usual staid jacket and, like Don, wearing a simple button up. I felt so relaxed at dinner, content just to go with the ebb and flow of the conversation. We had been given a booth and so often I would just lean against Don as we waited for the food, feeding off that solid sense of security he radiated – at least to me.

And just like I predicted, Jo tried to tease us about what we were doing after dinner, but Don got in some real zingers about how she needs to support the battery corporations more. Obviously she wasn't using them often enough.

We all got his drift.

Poor Mac, ever since he's been working with Jo he's been blushing more often thanks to her complete unashamed nature of who she is.

Still, Jo took it all in stride with her usual smirk.

It was when I was moaning through the amazing tiramisu for dessert that I was really aware as to Don's state. I looked up after polishing the delicious cake off (I can't master it no matter how hard I try!) to find his eyes darker than normal and he was slightly shifting in his seat. I took a quick glance down. Oh yep, the combo of the blouse and my happy sounds eating my dessert – no, they weren't on purpose – has got him fired up.

And all I can think after that is: Yum.

It's amazing how my mind goes from normal, innocent, every day things to being deep in the gutter when Don gives me a flash of that smile and cheeky bedroom eyes. I get off my focus and then imagine peeling those clothes off him later, pressing butterfly kisses over the places where he was hurt and paying homage to that glorious example of man. I get a little flustered when he brushes against me as he tucks a few bills into the cheque tray along with Mac, and I'm barely aware of the goodbyes we made with our friends as we leave. It isn't until we're in his car that he turns to me, still smirking that insufferable, adorable smirk, and says, "You were mentally undressing me in there weren't you?"

"Yeah," I murmur, hearing all too clearly the husky tone in my voice.

Don just smirks wider. "Your pupils dilated after you finished dessert," he informed me, letting me know what tipped him off.

"Your fault. You gave me _those_ eyes."

"What is that phrase you use? All part of the plan," he grins wickedly.

"Oh my, what large teeth you have," I tease in a faux girlish tone.

"All the better to nibble on your ear my dear!" Don counters in the mockery of a British big bad wolf.

I laugh. "We're terrible."

"Terrible together but in all the best of the ways."

As soon as we step inside Don's apartment, he lifts me up and I giggle madly like I always do when he does this, my skirt rides up to the tops of my thighs as I wrap my legs around him. I hold onto him tight as he walks to the bedroom, and while I trust him not to drop me anywhere other than the bed, I'm not tempting fate. Especially not with my luck lately. I'm lost to the sensations of my desire as his mouth finds my collarbone, nibbling across it while he presses me to the wall, dry grinding against me.

Damn, he knows just where to go to leave me brainless to anything but his mouth sucking on that spot on my neck…

He lays me on the bed, the abrupt change making me yelp.

That low, wonderful chuckle in my ear just makes me want him so much more than I already do, and I gently rake my nails over his back. "Let's get this shirt off," I murmur.

"As you wish," Don replies.

* * *

Later, after we had satisfied our thirst for each other and had cooled down enough to cuddle (which is something Don doesn't mind at all), I notice that he seems to have something on his mind. While he's grinning and happy, there's this hint of contemplation. I nuzzle into his shoulder and murmur, "What's up?"

He gives me an unreadable look and shifts so he's on his side to face me. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, but he doesn't stop running his hand over the length of my side from shoulder to thigh. He pauses on my hip, and strokes his thumb warmly over my skin. I'm not too worried. He's still smiling that content smile he has just before he drops off to sleep so it must only be a small problem. If it was bigger, he wouldn't be smiling at all.

"We're good lovers, right?" Don asks in a nonchalant tone.

Okay, I can't see where this is going. "I'd like to think so."

"And we'd tell each other if we want to try something new or if something didn't feel right at all," he goes on. Damn, he's still unreadable and I can't see his eyes properly – they're staring at his hand on my hip.

"Well, yeah," I reply bluntly. What the heck is Don on about?

"So you'd tell me if I wasn't satisfying you?"

"Don, what are you talking about?" I ask in reply.

His smile fades and he finally looks up to meet my eyes and I can see something has tainted his afterglow. Not many things do that. "I noticed that you took a little longer tonight than usual. Not that I had a problem with it, but you seemed a bit…tense," he says softly in a careful tone that means he knows he's treading on awkward ground. "You usually go off like a firecracker and you tremble and shake. Tonight you were a heck of a lot more subdued than normal. Was it something I wasn't doing right?"

Well…I totally wasn't expecting that.

He's partially right. Oh, my guy knows all the right moves, no question about it. But it's not his fault that I wasn't as reactive as I usually am. I'm into the physical fun but that horrible voice that makes me question myself and lowers my confidence piped up like a devil which, of course, distracted me from having as much pleasure with Don than I usually do. I couldn't let go towards the end simply because I kept over thinking. I didn't want to mention it and kill the mood.

Truth be told, I kept thinking, 'do I look chubby when he hikes my leg up like that?' or, 'am I appealing to him enough?' Stupid thoughts like that.

I eventually found my groove, but he noticed.

Don's still looking at me, waiting for my answer. It's not judgemental at all, and that's a relief – and I can't bring myself to tell him the complete truth, not when he's gazing at me with such sweet, earnest eyes.

"I'm just a little tired. It's been a long week. It's not you at all sugar," I whisper, sitting up so I can look down at him properly. I trail a finger along the line of his lips and he nips at it playfully. "If I wasn't being satisfied by you, you'd know it Don. I'd tell you. And let me assure you, I have no complaints on how well you make love to me."

He takes a hold of my hand and tugs me down so I'm lying on top of him, faces close. He searches my eyes and asks, "You sure? You sure it's not me? I kinda pride myself on being pretty awesome in the bed department."

I think it's funny that he's looking after my interests and his ego at the same time. It's cute. I kiss him, hard, deeply, and reply, "I'm very sure it's not you. You, my dearest detective, are amazing every single time, even when you're a goof."

"I am not a goof."

"Oh yes you are."

He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Mind if I can prove it to you that I'm not?"

As much as I want to…

"Don, if I had the strength I'd ride you like I was going for gold in the Kentucky derby," I whisper emphatically. I kiss him quickly again, as if the kiss would soften any possible blow he could have felt. "I don't think I could even muster up a spark."

"And that right there is completely fine with me," he says firmly, sensing the tiny part of failure on my part that I don't feel like more sex. He holds me close to him and grabs the sheet, throwing it over the both of us. "I prefer that you actually communicate that you don't feel up to some things. I can understand. Remember when I came back here last week after the kidnapping case? If I had said no if you had been dressed in a naughty nurse outfit, you would have understood completely. You think I keep you around for sex on demand?"

"Hell no! I would have kicked your pretty ass to the curb if that were the case," I tell him with a smirk.

"Well then, don't think I have that assumption. All I assume is that you'll tell me when you don't want to get freaky no matter how I'm feeling. I can always go solo you know," he adds with a hint of mischief. I snicker at the mental image of Don self-servicing (a really nice image by the way) and sigh. I really _am_ tired. And Don's so warm…

"Wow, you _must_ be tired. You sound like you're purring," he chuckles.

"That's humming in contentment. That's what it's called," I say, punctuated with a yawn.

"Okay, okay I get it, sleep baby," Don said, gently stroking over my side again.

I curl into him once more and then finally allow myself perchance to dream.

* * *

**A/N: A slower chapter, but one I think was really necessary to demonstrate how Savannah is feeling about all this – trying to be strong, but the cracks are forming. I also wanted to show that these people are NOT perfect. No way. They do have off days romantically too. **

**Reviews are always appreciated. I found it so hard to write that last section where they are discussing their sex life. **


	12. Snake in the Grass

**A/N: My muse is evil in the next few chapters. JUST so you know. Be prepared. Thank you to SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, Kayla, Annabella Colt, and JJ. Because of the FANTASTIC reviews I have decided to give you all a present and post this a day early. Be aware that I take liberties with NY locations. I have no idea what's actually on 3****rd**** and E.83****rd**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Swearing, drunkenness, some sensitive issues.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 12 – Snake in the Grass**

* * *

_She walks through the door in her high heeled shoes  
Ruby lips, merci beaucoup  
Code blue alert, in its finest form  
Note to self, you might be better off gone_

**Nitty Gritty Dirt Band – Somethin' Dangerous**

* * *

"CSI's are late today."

"Yep."

"Maybe we should have stopped for a coffee after all."

"Yep."

Flack and Waverly stared down at the victim – whose only sign of death apart from the unnatural stillness was the blood trails from his eyes, mouth, and nose – in companionable silence as they waited for Jo and Danny to arrive. The CSI's had all been backed up today due to Adam being down with the flu and Lindsay having to take the day off to look after Lucy. They were spread thin which meant detectives hanging around at scene for longer than usual. Flack checked his phone as Waverly made notes in her memo book, flicking past all the information they had already collected from the people whose shops backed into the alley they were in. The air reeked of dead body and garbage, and the ends of the crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze.

Kirsti sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Flack, man, I really do need a pick me up. Do you mind? I'll get you one too."

"Yeah, sure. I doubt they'll be here before you get back," the taller detective replied, leaning against the wall, bored.

Kirsti lit up, grabbing his arm and leaning up excitedly. "You like a double latte one sugar, right?"

"Right."

The redhead nodded and sashayed away, oblivious to the fact that Flack's attention had strayed from her the moment she had turned to leave. He was more interested in just how long he could stare at the John Doe vic before he got really impatient. At least Waverly had come into her own lately. She was not that bad of a detective – a bit scant on the research side of things, but her interrogations always yielded results. And while she hadn't given up the high heeled boots and skinny jeans, the studs and spikes had disappeared as soon as he had mentioned it.

Flack wasn't stupid. He knew that Kirsti flirted with him. The way he saw it was that she flirted with _everyone_, not just him. So it wasn't a big deal.

He also knew that Savannah had a few misgivings about her as well. He never understood why. Kirsti was nothing special. She was just someone he worked with. Nothing to be suspicious of at all – more often than not Waverly was just a blip on his radar. Nothing in her actions had indicated something worthy of suspicion.

A few minutes later, he heard the click-clack of heels. Kirsti had returned with the much needed morning brew. Wordlessly, Flack reached out for the paper cup which was placed in his hands. He inhaled the smell and took a sip.

"You looked like you needed that as much as I did," Kirsti said, standing shoulder to shoulder with her mentor.

Flack shifted away an inch to put more space between them. She had a bad habit of brushing up against him when they worked together. He guessed it was because she was almost a foot shorter than he was and didn't have the same perception of personal space due to her height. "Yeah," he replied disinterestedly, resisting the urge to call Jo and ask just how far away she was.

"Hey y'all. Did you get old in the time it took for us to get here?"

Don looked up with an ironic smirk. Think of her and she appears. "Just about. I think I got a few grey hairs," he countered.

"Anna's gonna love having a silver fox then," Jo replies, winking.

"Silver fox? Heheh, nice," Danny snickered as he came up behind her lugging his crime scene kit. "Who have we got?"

"John Doe. No ID or wallet, no keys, but he doesn't look homeless," Waverly piped up loudly, drawing the attention to herself. She double checked her note book. "The shop owners backing onto the alley said they didn't hear or see anything suspicious, but we don't have a TOD to structure the questions around because the ME's aren't here."

"We know, they radioed, they're five minutes away," Jo supplied helpfully, moving towards the body and preparing her camera. She set up her evidence markers and began clicking away while Danny began to do scene sketches.

Kirsti shifted on her feet, inadvertently bumping her hip against her fellow detective as she scratched her head in thought. "This could be poison, right?" she asked.

"Right," confirmed Danny. "I remember seeing this before. Has to be something pretty strong to destroy the mucus membranes. We'll get the tox results back to you two as soon as possible."

The younger detective scribbled something down and then brushed past Don to get a closer look at what the CSI's were photographing. Flack rolled his eyes and muttered, "I happen to have a personal space bubble Waverly. Make sure not to cross it too many times."

Immediately the redhead was apologetic. "Of course, I don't mean to," she simpered.

"Just watch yourself," Don warned.

* * *

Another day almost over.

Flack was looking forward to heading home today. He had some mundane, household things like bills to sort out and really needed to do them. He was so absorbed in doing his usual home bound routine that he didn't notice a stirring throughout the precinct.

It was only when the wolf-whistles began that he even bothered to look up.

Ah, he should have known by the obnoxiously loud heels that it would have been Kirsti. She finished up half an hour ago, clearing her desk and then mentioning something about getting ready for a night out on the town. She certainly looked it! Her hair fell straight to her waist, the front part of it scraped back with a gaudy gold clip. She wore a very short, very revealing strapless black dress with gold sequin detailing around the bust and hem. The high heels she wore were the same bright, extravagant gold colour and boosted her height by at least six inches. Flack smirked. One thing that was constant about Kirsti was that she was flashy. It was so regular that he was slightly desensitised to it by now.

She strutted in, bracelets on her wrists jangling like early Christmas bells. Her bust barely contained by the dress jiggled slightly in time to the tempo.

"Guys, guys, settle down," Kirsti said to the room at large, "this is tame compared to my college days."

Male laughter echoed around the room. Don didn't join in. He was too busy filing his papers.

Kirsti sauntered over to her desk, locking her service piece in her desk drawer. She peeked at her favourite detective through lowered lashes and the pleasant 'come hither' facade she wore almost cracked and fell away as irritation lanced through her. She was putting herself out on a silver platter yet again and not even a lingering look of admiration! Oh well, there was more than one way to catch a fish.

Leaning against her desk, Kirsti casually asked, "Anyone free to take me to the Upper East Side? I took the subway in this morning."

A few officers shook their heads while the detectives in the room just shrugged and muttered generic apologies.

Kirsti then turned to the only person who hadn't replied, engrossed in his work. "Aren't you going home soon Flack? You're supposed to be clocking off at 7…it would mean a lot to me if you could give me a ride. I'll even buy you a beer, you've been a great mentor for me after all," she tempted.

"No."

The smaller detective hid her outrage well. "Uh…can I ask why?"

Flack looked up, saying in a no-nonsense tone, "I don't go out with women alone unless they're my friends or unless we're in a group. I just don't feel comfortable with it." Kirsti looked puzzled, so he elaborated, "People read too much into things. If someone recognises me, rumours circulate. Besides, I've got Savannah, remember?"

"So you're not coming to get a friendly drink with me because you're afraid your girlfriend is going to freak? Flack, we're just work partners," Kirsti emphasised with a hint of annoyance. She crossed her arms. "Besides, I'm not going to the bar by myself. I've got a group of friends from college I'm meeting to blow off some steam before my day off tomorrow. It's not like I'm going wild alone." Seeing that she was losing her ticket to get a free ride by the handsome detectives' dubious expression, she tried a different track, softening her facial features. "Flack, the real reason I want to shout you a drink is because I really am grateful that you've mentored me through the transition from Vice to Homicide. You've been a real help and I want to show my appreciation." _'In more ways than one,'_ she thought to herself. But she kept her eyes wide and innocent, attempting to look as girlish as possible. "Please?"

Flack, hearing the sound reasoning, thought, '_May as well.'_ Kirsti was tolerable after all. She had been pulling in some pretty solid work lately so he'd be generous and drive her wherever she wanted to go.

"If you wait about ten minutes I can take you," the blue eyed man replied. Flack was completely oblivious to the vicious victory in the redhead's indigo eyes.

True to his word, in ten minutes the two detectives were on their way to the bar Kirsti was meeting her friends at.

Upon arrival, Flack realised what Kirsti meant by 'friends from college.' A gaggle of women dressed similarly to her, skin and flesh showing in the techno neon lights of the upscale club. He stared, unbelieving. He hadn't seen so much available in public except for the last time he had visited Terrence's club to check up on him. It was like seeing a band of brightly coloured birds in various shades of pink, blue, and green with sequins and shiny jewellery fluttering around each other. They all air-kissed, like pecking birds.

"Kirsti!"

"You made it!"

"You look _sooo_ hot girlfriend!"

Flack felt like laughing at the youthful language. This did not seem like Kirsti's crowd at all. Observing how her and her friends interacted, it was obvious that she was the ringleader. Different, better than the rest in the pecking order. More sophisticated than the carbon copy bimbos. The urge to bolt was strong but Kirsti seemed honest enough in her plea to buy him a drink. He had enough respect for her to give her a chance.

"Who's your friend Kirsti?" the woman wearing pink giggled.

"Girls, this is Detective Flack, he's been my mentor at the PD. He gave me a ride. Flack, these are my friends. Bonnie is in the pink, Frannie is in green, and Jenny is in the blue. We were roommates in AC at college," the redhead introduced. "I'll go get your drink and you guys can get to know each other."

Flack meant to protest but Kirsti had flounced off already to the bar, getting lost in the crush of bodies gyrating to the club music. He was stuck with the friends.

Awkwardly, he nodded at them and asked, "How're you doin'?"

They tittered, reminding him of birds more than ever, and the one in green, Frannie, asked, "Are all detectives as cute as you?"

The tall man stopped the eye roll he wanted to perform and replied, "I wouldn't know. I'm not attracted to other men so…yeah, wouldn't know."

They all giggled and Jenny patted his arm. "You're so funny! I didn't know detectives could be so funny!"

'_What you don't know could probably fill a series of books,'_ Don thought cynically, fiddling with his cell phone. He wasn't used to this kind of scene. He much preferred his traditional haunts of Sullivan's and Melvoy's. He was 33 for crying out loud, he was too mature for places like this! Just by quick observation, there weren't many people his age here, and if they were, they sure as heck didn't look their age.

Kirsti returned with two shot glasses in hand and a beer.

Flack eyed the shot glass warily. "I thought you said just a beer."

"Just _one_ tequila. They have the best here for cheap. I also got you a beer. C'mon Flack, loosen up," she encouraged with a smile, sculling her shot.

Deciding to go with it just to judge the quality of the alcohol, Don tossed the shot back and blew out a breath. "Whoa. Nice. You were right," he remarked.

"Told you. You stress too much," replied the redhead with a wink, sidling up to him and then beginning to chat with her friends while Flack listened curiously and sipped his beer. It was fascinating to see this whole other side to the usually abrasive detective, the one that giggled and postured. If nothing else, it was entertaining. She was kind enough to include him in the conversation from time to time, and when he spoke, they all turned to him with grins and wide eyes like he was their teacher in school about to tell them a great story.

It felt like his beer was never ending. Just when he was sure he had finished it, it seemed to refill. And Flack rarely placed his beer on the table, only when his attention was diverted to a rowdy bunch in the back.

Soon, he found himself telling his usual corny jokes as he managed to let go of his reticence. The high-pitched, ringing laughter of the four ladies seemed to be ever present and he grinned back at them. This attention was actually pretty nice. They hung onto each word, especially Kirsti. She would keep rubbing his shoulder or if a song she liked she would bounce on the spot, making every part of her jiggle. Flack wouldn't be surprised if her breasts popped out she did it that often.

Another shot of tequila was pushed into his hand. "Come on Flack, another!" Kirsti giggled.

Don hesitated before shrugging and tossing that back as well. He was here to relax. He might as well.

It was when his vision started to blur half an hour later that the danger signs became apparent. Confusedly, he looked at the beer bottle in his hand and realised that the label had been very different to the beer he had been drinking earlier. He chuckled without knowing why and muttered, "Shit. I have to go."

"Nooo," Kirsti whined, tugging on his sleeve. "You've been so cool and fun. Stay."

"Nah, I haven't got the…the…what's it called? Day off like you do tomorrow," Don replied, slurring slightly.

Kirsti felt thwarted. She was near stone cold sober while she and her friends had sneakily switched the detective's beers so they were always full. He had at least three and she felt like if she could get him wasted enough that the beer goggles would aid her plan to get him falling to her whims and she would have him just where she wanted him. Fucking her somewhere private (or somewhere semi-private).

She hadn't got him to lose his senses yet! Her plan had gone so well so far that it burned that Flack had kept his wits about him.

"But Don," she entreated in his ear, "we were having so much fun."

The warning bells rang loud and clear then. Shaking his head, Flack replied, "No, no, I've gotta go. I really do. It's been fun though…thanks for the drinkin' yeah?" Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the door, stumbling slightly. In his inebriated state he didn't noticed an incensed Kirsti Waverly kicking out at the chair leg in a fit of temper.

Getting out of the club, Don went to the curb and waved madly for a taxi. As much as he felt fuzzy, he knew that he couldn't drive his car in this state. Drunk as he was, he didn't question the fact that he had gotten sloshed so fast. A cab pulled over and he got in. He rattled off an address that, once he thought about what he said, didn't sound like his own. What was his own again?

Half an hour later, the drunken man found himself making his way to Savannah's apartment. Flack was pleasantly surprised he ended up here. He knocked on the door, calling out, "Sav-vie! Anna! Cake Queen! Open up or I'll huff and puff and…something. But it's pretty funny."

He waited a minute and then bashed on the door again. "Babe! Where are you?"

There was the grating of a key in a lock and the door swung open, revealing a sleep-dishevelled brunette in a short nightgown. Glaring at him through bleary eyes, Savannah asked, "What the hell Don?! It's in the middle of the night. Did you lose your key with your good sense as well?"

Don just gave her a goofy grin and patted his pockets. "Oh…they're here. Sorry!" he exclaimed and held up his keys, jangling them loudly.

Sighing irritably, Savannah reached out and yanked him in, locking the door before turning to him and inspecting him thoroughly. As she got closer to him, Don, not thinking straight, grasped her shoulders and began to nuzzle at her neck, feeling suddenly horny. "Mmmm, baby, you smell so good."

"And you smell like a bar," she grumped, her nose wrinkling as she smelt the stink of beer on his breath. He was definitely drunk. She took a closer whiff and frowned, suspicion sparking. "I smell…female perfume. It's not Jo's or Lindsay's and is musky. Who were you out with?" Savannah demanded.

Don ignored her, continuing to nuzzle her. Savannah fought an inner battle. As much as his mouth on her body felt good and ultra sensitive due to her state of awakening, it felt wrong. Something was just _wrong _here. She didn't want this. "Don…"

He took it as an invitation and backed her up against the wall, his strength overpowering her and taking her gasp of shock as one of pleasure. Don pressed himself against her, ignorant to her sudden tense body and the startled expression flashing across her face. He groaned and ground his hips over hers, murmuring, "Can't you feel how hot I am baby? How much I want to take you up against the wall? Nnngh."

"Don, you're drunk," Savannah said, beginning to panic. '_Oh God, let this please be a nightmare_,' she begged.

"Baby…" he whined, and she could feel his fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown, flirting with her skin. Lust for his form warred with fear that no matter how much she protested, Don would be deaf to her pleas.

"Don…I _don't_ want to have sex right now," the brunette enunciated slowly, pushing at his shoulders.

He paused, as if trying to process the words.

It gave Savannah the chance she needed. She ducked to the side and used her elbow to shove her boyfriend off her, skirting towards the couch to put some space between them. Hugging herself, she snapped, "Stop! You're being a complete asshole!"

He was like a child, tilting his head to the side and saying petulantly, "But…I want you."

Grey-green eyes glimmered with hidden fury. "Who did you go out with tonight?" she asked again.

"Uhm…redhead chick. Wavey? Waverrrrly?" Don slurred. He was confused. He thought Savannah wanted to get it on for some action too, and to see her looking like she was about to maim him was odd. He was horny. As soon as he had seen Savannah, his libido had acted like a raging monster and taken hold of him. He just didn't get women sometimes.

Something broke within Savannah then and black rage poured forth. She whirled around, grabbing a cushion from her couch and threw it at the wall, livid.

"Uh…you okay?"

"NO! I'm _not_ okay Don," the curly haired woman replied curtly, fighting the urge to just yell at him until her throat was raw. He was drunk. He probably had been too trusting of someone who he worked with. "You went out with Kirsti Waverly. A woman who you've insisted doesn't impress you much, and you got smashed in her presence. A woman that you know I don't exactly trust."

"But it was just a friendly drink," Don defended.

"Friendly! You think the fact I can smell her perfume on you means that it was only _friendly_ on her side of things?" she ranted.

Don just stood there with a quizzical look.

"Urgh, forget it, I might as well be talking to a stoner. Follow me," Savannah ordered, beckoning with a finger sharply. She knew one of the few things that would help sober him up enough to get out of this mood.

"Okay. Fun and games now?"

"Yeah, something like that," she snorted derisively.

Eager now, Don followed his girlfriend's curvaceous form and couldn't pull his eyes away. She was so smoking hot, even now grumpy and pissed off. He frowned slightly as they entered the bathroom. "What are we doing in here?"

"Having a shower," Savannah replied simply, turning on the cold water only. Her visage was an unsmiling one as she roughly helped the inebriated man out of his clothes and, with a bitter look in her eyes, shoved him underneath the water pouring out of the showerhead. He cried out like a wounded animal in shock at the unexpected temperature causing Savannah to dart out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, breathing heavily as she heard her lover cursing in both English and Irish. She leant against it, putting her head in her hands, trying to keep her composure. She knew, _knew_ that Kirsti had been after Don like a feral dog goes after meat. She was a man-eater. The worst part of it all was that she wouldn't know what actually happened until the alcohol was out of Don's system. He wasn't disproportionately huge, but he was a sturdy man. It would take something strong, not just beer, to get him this much out of his normal frame of mind. The sober Don wouldn't have acted like he did.

Savannah heard the cursing ebb and then heard him clearly say, "Fuck, what did I do?"

'_Made me fear you for the first time,'_ she thought, but she would never tell him. He would withdraw from her and be broody. She didn't want that – rationally Anna knew that this had been a mistake. The alcohol had blurred the lines of want and reluctance in Don's perception of her.

In that moment of time, though, she had feared.

"Savannah!" Don shouted from the bathroom a while later. "God, come back here, please!"

Savannah sighed, shivering at what he might want. He sounded desperate. Carefully, she went back into the bathroom, seeing Don poking his head out from the shower curtain. There was an utterly defeated aura about him although he still slurred slightly. "I didn't mean it. I just…shit, I'm so stupid," he said quietly, remorseful.

The brunette just stared at him silently, watching as he huffed and wiped a hand over his eyes, muttering, "Fucking tequila."

Ah. Tequila was a sure fire way to get Don drunk.

Savannah felt little sympathy. He knew what he was doing. He chose to go out with that idiot Kirsti. She just asked, "Where's your car? Where was the bar?"

"Um…oh shit…it was 3rd and East 83rd. I'm pretty sure," he mumbled.

"Okay. I'm going to go pick it up then," she replied, grabbing the keys that had fallen to the floor.

She was about to leave when Don's voice, soft, rough with emotion, said, "Savannah…I'm sorry."

Savannah just gazed levelly at him, eyes intense and scrutinising. Any trace of her usual warmth had been drained from her like someone had pulled the plug and sent it rushing out of her. "We'll see," she replied, finally leaving.

There was a blankness about her as she took a taxi to the club. Thought was undefined, white noise. Once there, she spotted Don's car easily. Going through the motions in picking up the car gave the brunette something to hold on to in the tumultuous waves of emotions battering her conscious. Driving calmed her down a bit but she was still deeply upset.

Back in her apartment, Savannah noticed that Don had passed out on the couch in a messy sprawl, dressed in one of the spare sets of clothing he left here. The shower must have helped get some function back into his brain. Apathy clashed violently with compassion and she huffed in frustration before grabbing a spare blanket from her blanket chest and throwing it over his supine form. In his sleep, he was frowning, and looked just as regretful as he had when she had left.

Staring at Don's figure in the darkness of the room, Savannah made the decision to take all her feelings about how she had felt that night and lock them away – she didn't want to bring the subject up and feel it all over again.

* * *

**A/N: Troubled waters ahead, like I warned you all. How did you all feel about this chapter and about Kirsti, about Savannah's reaction, and Don's uncharacteristic cluelessness? Let me know! Your input is forever valued. **


	13. Something's Wrong

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Your feedback is always amazing even though I'm really taking this fic in a very conflict oriented direction. Smuffly, Leslie Emm, Forest Angel, Annabella Colt, SomebodyWhoCares, Kayla, and JJ, you guys are awesome. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 13 – Something's Wrong**

* * *

_They arrived at an inconvenient time  
I was hiding in a room in my mind  
They made me look at myself, I saw it well  
I'd shut the people out of my life_

**Kate Bush – Them Heavy People**

* * *

Adam Ross entered the Comfort Cafe and let a smile touch his face. It was nice to actually have somewhere a little homey to come to when he took a rare break from work or had a day off. He liked keeping to his usual places around his home, but he normally went out of his way to see Savannah.

He had heard rumours flying around the lab today that over the weekend Don had gotten himself drunk with the new detective Kirsti Waverly and that he and Savannah hadn't spoken since. They were mean, vicious rumours, whispering about possible infidelity and Adam had to come see for himself that Anna was okay. He didn't believe the rumours at all – he knew Flack better than that. So did the core CSI team and Mac especially had been harsh on any person who even alluded to the rumours in casual conversation. Unfortunately, the tall detective had been too busy going from crime scenes to interrogations to ferreting out information for anyone to be able to check on him. He was also too busy to defend himself against the gossip.

So Adam settled for this.

Not that 'settled' was quite fair as a statement on coming to one of his favourite places to see one of his favourite people.

He smiled and waved to the ever dedicated Jacks, who was placing a fresh pear and raspberry loaf into the cake fridge. The smaller woman was as chilled out and steady as her cousin was effervescent and alive. On the few times he had made conversation with her, Adam had been surprised that Jacks had managed to coax out information from him and yet he knew very little of her. She was like Savannah in that respect.

Speaking of which…

Adam's smiled wobbled when he saw Savannah sitting at the CSI's normal table by herself, scribbling aimlessly on a small notepad. Her hair was unkempt, multiple curls falling like rivers out of her usually orderly bun while the bags under her eyes were pronounced as if someone had poured cement into them. There was a weary air about her.

Savannah noticed him a few moments later, snapping out of her reverie with a quick shake of her head. "Adam!" she exclaimed in an attempt at excitement which was only a ghost of her usual vibrancy. "How are you? Looks like that chicken soup did you well with the flu and all."

The lab rat nodded. "Yeah, it was really, really good." He took a seat and wondered if everyone else could notice that the cafe owner's smile wasn't reaching her eyes. It was like someone had doused the fire that habitually shone within.

"Good to see you up and about. What do you feel like?" Savannah asked, oblivious to his silent pondering.

Adam felt like replying that he wanted to see her usual smile. Too aware that – like him – she tended to avoid sensitive topics like that, he requested, "A hot chocolate and some toast?"

"Three marshmallows, none pink," the brunette recited from memory.

"Yeah."

It was a mark of how off she was that Savannah called one of the serving girls over to take the order instead of doing it herself. Adam took the chance to study her further. The line of her shoulders was not as high, the lowered slope framing the dejected aura projected. Her head craned towards the tabletop instead of peering around the cafe and doing a mental check of her customers. A frown creased the seam of her eye line. She didn't seem as eager and alive.

It concerned Adam.

"So…how's things?" he asked awkwardly.

"Can't complain," Savannah replied noncommittally.

"Are you sure? I mean, I can be a very good listener if you want," Adam offered shyly.

A more genuine smile spread across the brunette's face. Reaching out to ruffle his hair in affection, she replied, "I know you can be, but I'm fine Adam. It's sweet that you care."

"You're cool," he shrugged.

But he made a mental note to mention Savannah's subdued nature to Mac the next time he saw the man. He wasn't convinced at all that she was as 'fine' as she said.

* * *

The next afternoon Savannah was distracted from clearing a few tables by the arrival of the exuberance that was Callum Brent.

Callum was a different boy from the one she had encountered in the first days of summer the previous year. The redheaded then-eleven year old had been a timid and unsure youngster who had been heavily abused by his father Charles – a man now serving a life sentence for the murders of two of Callum's friends. Flack had rescued the boy from his home and Savannah had watched over him in hospital while the detective had made the arrest. Callum had been one of those fortunate in the system to have been adopted rather quickly by Brendan and Martha Brent, bookshop owners in Queens. Their gentle nature had accelerated the boy's healing and mental health.

He was now an eager bookworm, and while shy around strangers, he was quick to smile around those he knew.

His cry of "Miss Anna, Miss Anna!" startled the cafe owner and she almost dropped the stack of coffee mugs she had been holding.

"Callum, what have I said about yelling in my cafe?" Savannah scolded as she righted herself, looking down at the boy sternly.

Callum's eyes widened as her realised his mistake. "To not to," he mumbled, shuffling his feet sheepishly.

"Right." She then continued on her path to the sink in the kitchen before returning, wiping her hands on her apron. Martha Brent had now entered the cafe, seconds after her high-spirited son. She mustered up a pleasant smile and went over to the Brent's. "Nice to see you Martha. How's the shop going?"

"Excellently. We managed to find one of the first editions of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' from a garage sale and we gave it the VIP treatment. We have high hopes it'll sell well," the younger woman replied in her usual genteel voice, resting a hand affectionately on Callum's shoulder. He seemed to perk up from his chastisement at the contact.

"Nice. Out of curiosity, have you got that copy of Christina Rossetti poems yet?" asked Savannah hopefully.

"Not yet, but I have high hopes it'll come in soon, in the next fortnight," replied Martha.

Savannah felt a little let down by that – she had really wanted more poetry – but ushered the two over to a table. She had every intention of taking some time to talk to Callum and Martha but she saw a customer approaching the counter and anxiety seized her when Claudette made to move to serve him. She still hadn't found her robber and all four she had suspected were still suspects. It made her want to preside over the til at all times.

"I'll get it Claudie!" the brunette called, quickly saying to the Brent's, "I'm so sorry. I'll put your usual orders in, is that okay?"

"Aww, but-" Callum began with pre-teen expectation dashed.

"That's fine, you do have your own business to look after," Martha cut in smoothly, nudging Callum discreetly.

As Savannah departed the table, the redheaded boy turned to his guardian and said in a wisdom advanced for his years, "Miss Anna's different today. What do you think is wrong?"

Martha took a quick note of the cafe owner serving her customer. Her smile was tight, forced, and there was something jerky about her mannerisms. She didn't know Anna well, but from what she knew of her was that she was usually a bit more natural. Callum had summed it up well. It was wrong. Unusual.

"I don't know sweetie, but I'm sure that her milkshakes and cookies will be the same as ever," Martha replied tactfully.

The boy just nodded, trusting in what his mother said.

* * *

Flack sat in his car outside of the Comfort Cafe, silently stewing.

It had been a week since the unfortunate drinking incident.

A lot could happen in a week.

The next time he had seen Waverly, he had given her a stern talking to about how irresponsible it was of her to let him get drunk. She had apologised sincerely enough, so Flack had been grudgingly satisfied by this but vowed never to acquiesce to Kirsti's requests to go out again. He had told Savannah this.

Savannah had just snorted and turned away, obviously disbelieving.

She hadn't talked to him since.

Whenever he tried to call, she would hang up. Whenever he tried to come into the cafe to see her, she disappeared and let her staff serve him instead. Don had gotten the hint but still persisted until Savannah would talk to him. The one time he managed to catch her she had merely said that she was still upset about the situation, but hadn't enlightened him about what exactly she was upset about and had hid out in her office until he had left.

All the while, Flack had been shutting down rumours about him and Waverly left, right, and centre while getting updates on how his girlfriend's mood had seemed off from Mac, Jo, Lindsay, Danny, Hawkes, even Sid and Adam! It irked him to no end that they knew more about her than he did.

Savannah wasn't giving him a chance to do anything!

Don sighed and grabbed the bouquet of tiger lilies and purple hydrangeas. He had decided to suck it up and try and at least grovel to get her to talk. He was sick of not seeing her, holding her or kissing her. Not when the days were long and gruelling and it felt like she was the only warmth in this cold city. Don had missed his girlfriend, plain and simple. He left the car and entered the cafe with a determined stride.

Savannah was at the cash register, just finishing counting the money.

"Anna," he said.

The brunette snapped her head up in surprise and glimpsed the flowers in his hands. Her expression was blank but Don could see the conflict in her eyes.

So he went to her and got down on his knees. "You know, I hate that it's come to this, but here I am, grovelling at your feet," Don said with a touch of sarcasm, holding the flowers to her. "I'm sorry. I want to talk. Please?"

Savannah silently took the bouquet, gently touching the petals contemplatively before setting them down on the counter. "Thank you for the flowers Don. But…I don't want to talk about last week's incident," she replied quietly.

Don just stared incredulously. "Are you serious?" He stood and crossed his arms, frowning down at her. "Let's skip the BS. It's obviously bothering you, everyone can tell as well. We should have a good, in depth talk about why you feel the need to shut off like this. Stop being stubborn, damnit," he said, frustration seeping into his tone.

"Stubborn!?"

Don knew immediately that he shouldn't have said that last sentence. He opened his mouth to defend himself when an angry hand cut through the air, making a 'stop' motion. "You say I'm being _stubborn_?" Savannah demanded. Her neutral air fizzled and died, fury sparking deep. "I'm not allowed to stew over something? I'm not allowed to feel upset? Don't you dare tell me what to do!"

"That's not what I meant-"

"I don't care! It doesn't matter how you meant it, because that's how I feel. I'm having a bit of an off week, get over it," Savannah exclaimed, clenching her fists. She stepped back, putting more space between them, continuing, "Oh I may be a little stubborn because I feel like if I talked to you sooner we'd say things we didn't mean and I'd act like the _worst_ clingy girlfriend in the world, but since we're here anyway, I'm going to fire off. Tact be damned, I'd rather be stubborn than naive!"

"Naive? Oh, just tell me how I'm naive," Flack retorted dryly.

"That idiot Kirsti Waverly. How can you be so blind to her wiles Don?" the angry woman questioned, mimicking his closed stance and crossing her arms. "Come on, tell me. I thought you were a smart man."

Don heard the challenge in the tone. "You don't know what you're saying."

"The hell I don't! Little Miss Perfect is a man-eater, and how you can't see it I don't know. She wants you bad. Every time I see her around you, she's got this look in her eyes like she wants to strip you right there and have you for breakfast – she doesn't give a shit that you've got me," Savannah pointed out.

"Anna, she flirts with everyone at the precinct," the tall man countered.

"Bullshit!"

"Look, Kirsti's a ditz and she likes to party, I'll give you that, but she's come good as a detective. I have to trust her enough to watch out for my back when we're going in on a dangerous suspect and she hasn't betrayed my trust _professionally_ yet. Yeah, I was stupid, getting drunk last week, but she didn't try to pull anything on me like kiss me or anything like that. Plus, she doesn't interest me _at all_ in that way. I don't find her pretty, I don't find her entertaining, and I sure as the Pope is Catholic don't want to take her to bed or have any intention of letting her do that," Don argued heatedly, annoyed to the max. All he had intended was to talk this issue out and work out ways to get past this friction on the Kirsti issue, and it was turning into a full on ugly argument.

Savannah curled her lip in disgust. "It doesn't matter what you intend, she's trouble. I don't want to see her, I don't even want you to partner up with her anymore," she insisted vehemently.

"I can't do that. My CO wants me to work with her," Don replied tightly. He threw his hands up in the air and asked, "Why the hell are you so upset about this? Kirsti is _nothing_ to me, you hear me, _nothing._"

"Nothing, huh?" Savannah asked, deadly soft with narrowed eyes. "Sure. That's why you let her get you drunk and you let her paw at you."

"You have nothing to be jealous of, and don't deny it, you're feeling jealous because I spend time with her at work. It's for no reason. I just said, Waverly doesn't interest me at all beyond being a work partner," the blue eyed man argued, exasperated with the fact his girlfriend just wasn't getting it.

"Whatever."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Don interrogated, a frown crinkling his forehead. "You're not seeing rationally."

"I feel like being irrational," she replied bitingly. "You have no idea of how uncomfortable I am with the idea of you being around her."

"You're letting these issues get to you. And for what, Savannah? Something else has got to be stressing you out…c'mon baby, talk to me." Don took a slightly softer approach seeing her close off more, entreating at the end. He didn't want to go away angry. He wanted Anna in his arms again.

Savannah's stance changed, something akin to helplessness entering her bothered posture. Her eyes flickered to a drawer underneath the til to Don and then back again uncertainly. "I am stressed about something else," she finally admitted grudgingly. She didn't make eye contact as she opened the drawer and took something out, held by a wide red rubber band.

Black envelopes with spiky white writing.

"Your stalker?" breathed Don in shock. This mood was starting to make a little bit of sense now. "When did you get these? Why didn't you tell me or give them to Mac or Jo? It's an open case and we need evidence like this!"

"You know what Don?" Savannah exclaimed sharply, slamming the drawer shut and turning to him. "You frustrate me. I don't want to talk! I'm sick and tired of talking! It feels like it's getting me _nowhere_ and I can't waste time trying to when I've got shit to do," she yelled. She then threw the small bundle down at his feet and snatched her bag off the hook, tearing out of there before Flack could react. He followed her form with shocked, worried eyes, starting after her before deciding to let her go. She would only refuse the comfort he wanted to give. With a sigh, he leaned down and picked up the letters, moving to a nearby chair resignedly. He shouldn't have been so rash. He had meant to make an apology after all, not escalate the cold shoulder treatment into a full scale argument. Her reaction had surprised Don. He was not used to this side of Savannah. He was used to the compassionate, free loving, joyous woman he had come to know and love. Don knew that the darker side lurked (and loved it just as much because it was part of his partner), but unlike his own which under enough pressure would unleash, hers was hardly ever aimed at him.

Before he could get to the notes, the kitchen door opened and the slight form of Jacks slowly approached.

Don gave her a weak smirk. "Heard the whole thing?" he asked.

"Yeah," replied the short woman. She shook her head. "Hell of a thing. At least she's showing some emotion other than this lethargy she's been doing lately."

"What's been going on Jacks? I've apologised to her about being drunk and coming to her apartment the way I did," he inquired despairingly.

Jacks was serious, showing the depth of care for her cousin. "I know you have been. And what you did was wrong, hell, even I was a bit mad at you for that, but you've been taking all the right steps to make up for it. Anna's mostly over that – she's mostly upset about that devil woman, the one with the red hair. No matter how you spin it, she's going to be a spitfire when talking about that Waverly woman," she advised.

"Aw hell," lamented the tall man, scratching his head tiredly.

Jacks frowned in thought, wondering if she should reveal the secret Savannah was hiding. "There is another reason why she's been so stressed. It hasn't been all you, in fact, this situation with you and her has only been about 10% of her worries," she confessed to Don, instantly gripping his attention. "You were really just her target for _all_ her frustrations."

Hating that he wasn't kept in the loop, Don ordered, "Information. Now."

"One of our workers has been stealing money regularly from the cash machine," Jacks disclosed with a hint of spite for whoever it was. "Anna's been freaking out because the total is almost $1000 across the past month and they've escalated. Whoever it is, they're good. Really good. We're not catching it on our cameras and I've seen her in her office when she's supposed to be having a break just pouring over the footage. She's angry and hurt and upset and it isn't helped by the fact she's worried that you'll fall to the charms of that man-eater," she explained, sitting down opposite the taller man.

"But I won't," replied Flack loudly.

"Hey, _I_ know that you won't. But something in that girl's mind just twists what you see as normal into something wicked," the short woman pointed out. "It's a sign of how much she cares about you that she fears you'll be taken away from her."

"I'm not planning on going anywhere," Don said fervently.

Jacks just stared at him as if to assess the truth of his words and nodded. She gestured to the letters in his hand. "That's another reason Anna's not herself. She's more paranoid. I'm just going to go and finish up, but have fun reading what the stalker had to say this time."

Don didn't reply as she walked away, sliding the first envelope out of the pile and opening it.

It was different: the stalker had changed their MO for this. It was a picture of Savannah, hunched over as she wiped some dirt off her shoe. The background indicated she was in the alley to the side of the cafe and didn't show her in the most flattering of angles. In the same bold white script the word 'FATTY' was scrawled. Don grimaced and was tempted to shred the picture into a million tiny little pieces. This was sure not to help with Anna's self-esteem issues.

The next envelope revealed a poisonous message.

'_HOW IS IT HE STILL FOLLOWS YOU LIKE A TRAINED ANIMAL?!'_

The detective could only stare and scowl at that one. He was not a trained animal in any way. He and Savannah were equals. Someone definitely wanted to see them apart.

The next one was another note with a shorter but no less sharp point.

'_BITCH! HE WILL KNOW THE TRUTH!'_

Don didn't want to know what was in the last envelope, but he opened it up and looked at it anyway. It was another photo of Savannah in a skirt and blouse, obviously out doing some grocery shopping. She had a hand on her hip and her lips were pursed as she looked at something on her phone. The word 'WHORE' was printed across the bottom.

Christ. No wonder Savannah had been so cagey about everything.

"Why the hell did she let herself carry this all alone?" Don asked himself disappointedly, although he already knew the answer.

Pride and independence.

The thought that Savannah had been struggling with the issues of the stalker, the robber, and Waverly all by herself made a pang of sadness go through the drained man. Hadn't they come far enough and trusted each other to discuss these kinds of things? Yeah, he and Savannah had a bit of a fight about last week, but he didn't expect this total secrecy about things that _mattered_. No matter how busy he was, Don wanted to make sure Savannah was as happy and as healthy as possible. He felt too much for her to do otherwise.

He could understand why she wouldn't reach out for help on either the stalker situation or the cash pinching situation – he just didn't have to like it.

Frustrated and feeling like he had messed everything up, Don let Jacks know he was leaving and headed for the Crime Lab.

The least he could do to aid his next attempt at talking to Savannah was get the envelopes and notes checked for evidence that may finally give them some clue to the stalker and get at least one major problem out of her life.

* * *

Savannah burst onto her rooftop almost delirious with the need to be alone, solitary from the world. She dropped her bag at the entrance to the garden and collapsed to the earth near her own patch of garden. She shuddered with her breaths, emotions she thought she had successfully locked down pouring through every cell of her being.

The pale hands curled into the soft, nurturing earth as Savannah let go and screamed, howling out her anger and her sorrow to the air.

She cried, without knowing exactly why, but knowing that something within hurt. She was a mess. She wanted Don here but she didn't want him here at the same time.

The tumult made her heart ache and she pounded the earth, exposing herself to the one thing that would never judge her. Nature.

* * *

**A/N: As always, I was anxious about posting this because it's so hard to get the balance. I hope you found it all fascinating. What will happen next? Will we **_**finally**_** know the stalker soon? Reviews are always fantastic to receive and let me know if I've done a good job. **


	14. We Gotta Try

**A/N: Anyone still stunned by last chapter? If so, you might like this better. Flack's efforts on Savannah's behalf come out here. To SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, Forest Angel, JJ, and Kayla, thanks for the reviews! Hope you like this one too.**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: NC – no coffee rating. Just for the first part. Seriously, heed this warning. Swearing. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 14 – We Gotta Try**

* * *

_How do you feel in the morning  
When it comes and everything's undone?  
Is it 'cause we wanna be free? Well that's not me.  
Normally I'm so strong_

**P!nk – Mean**

* * *

Flack went to the Crime Lab the next day to see if anything had been found on the letters. He had sent a text to Savannah saying how he hadn't meant to go off at her, but had gotten no reply. He was irritated with her mulishness, but decided that maybe cooling off was the way to go.

As the tall detective exited the elevator, he spotted Mac rushing from his office. "Yo, Mac!" he called.

"Can't talk, something's happening in the morgue, the alarm went off," the harried CSI rattled off.

"I'll come with you then," Flack offered, and the two marched down, hands resting on their guns as they took the stairs down to the morgue.

As soon as they entered the place, chaos ensued. Half of the ME's room was shut off by the glass walls with half of the cadaver assistants on one side, chattering in confusion, the other half on the other. Sid was in the thick of it all in the closed off portion and he was the one Mac and Don looked to immediately as they arrived. They stopped in shock at the scene.

For he and his fellow techs were all either laughing or smiling.

"What the-?" exclaimed Flack in confusion.

"Sid? What's going on in there?" Mac called through the speaker.

Sid, with a big silly grin on his face, came up to the glass and sing-songed, "Happy, happy, happy gas in one of the victims. Went to see stomach contents and got happy, happy, happy!"

"Happy gas?" pondered Mac. "That's a new one."

"So happy gas turned half of the coroner's office into giggling fools," said Don, unbelieving at what he was witnessing. This was wacked out and weird – and he had seen a lot. One woman was on the floor, giggling whenever someone moved past her, a pair of ME's were pointing and laughing at x-rays, and Sid was waltzing slowly on the spot, a dreamy expression more at home on Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter on his face.

"Hey Mac, hey Don, I've got a really good catchphrase for the coroner's office," he said to them.

Mac almost didn't want to ask. "What?"

Sid threw his hands out and took a ballerina pose, announcing, "NYC Morgue! You stab 'em, we slab 'em!"

Don and Mac just stared at the delusional ME who then chuckled and continued to revolve on the spot.

"Pinch me," requested Flack.

Mac did.

"Okay, now I know this definitely isn't a dream because I ate too many jelly snakes last night. Something's telling me that isn't just happy gas," the taller detective stated.

"I think you may be right, like a happy gas-hallucinogen combination, but I think it's wise to let the gas specialists take care of it. We'll take a sample of the air when it's safer to go in." Mac then ordered all of the unaffected staff out, telling them to go into their locker rooms and wait for further instructions. Once they were cleared, he told Sid to sit tight while professional help came. Flack just watched in silence the whole time, stuck between laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the situation and dubiousness. He absentmindedly hummed the 'Twilight Zone' theme music under his breath as the still affected Sid revolved happily on the spot. One thing about the event struck a chord with the sarcastic man.

The laughter.

He hadn't heard Savannah's laugh in over a week, and that just didn't sit right with him. Don missed her laughter and wondered when he would hear it again. Hopefully it was soon.

He and Mac finally left when the situation was under control and Danny and Jo were there to take samples while Sid and his workers were cleared.

"Heck of a thing," muttered the older man.

"Yeah," replied Don. "I think my brain just broke."

That pulled a smirk from Mac who led the way to his office. "At least I can say there's never a boring day in the Crime Lab," he remarked, sitting down at his desk while the younger took the visitors chair. "You came in earlier to ask me something I believe."

Nodding, Don asked, "Have you gotten any results on Savannah's new stalker letters?"

Shaking his head dourly, Mac answered, "Haven't had the time to put it through any kind of processing yet. Adam said he's trying to get through the evidence as fast as he can without compromising it and that as soon as he has a break in the bigger cases, he'll be onto it."

Flack sighed, reining in his frustration so it wouldn't be visible, and said, "Okay. Well let me know if you find anything."

"Will do." As Don went to stand and leave, Mac stopped him with a question. "Don, do you know how she is?"

The younger man tensed, setting his jaw as he shook his head in a negative. "No Mac. I have no idea how she is." And then he left, looking slightly more defeated than before.

* * *

Flack couldn't concentrate. Not when the issue of Savannah and what she was going through drove him up the wall.

Kirsti was working on some reports when she noticed him fidgeting. "What's up Flack, you look distracted," she commented.

"It's nothing," he replied bluntly.

"Come on pal, I'm a good listener," the redhead said with a saccharine smile, leaning towards him so that more cleavage was on display.

Flack, annoyed from the circumstances, replied bitingly, "Waverly, I'm not your pal. I work with you. I tolerate you. I trust you out in the field. That's it."

Kirsti pouted, surprise flashing over her face. "But-"

"Piss off, I'm not in the mood," he retorted in a snarky voice, missing how her indigo eyes burned with rage and hate as he stood and left. He couldn't work right now – he was no good like this. So he let his CO know he had to leave early and headed for the familiar road to Queens. If Savannah wasn't going to talk to him, he was going to seek out the only people who he felt secure enough to talk to about it.

His parents.

Donald Sr. and Olivia Flack had a long, good marriage, but not without a few bumps along the way. If anyone knew anything about this situation, it was them.

For sure, Don had once had girlfriends who didn't talk to him and argued with him – but none that he had ever cared about as much as Savannah, and he needed to know the right path forward for both their sakes. It was such a turnaround – that Anna was the one who didn't want to talk and he was the one advocating for it.

Seeing the recognisable clapboard house from his childhood helped calm the detective down some. He pulled up and headed for the entrance, brushing his fingers over the NYPD insignia next to the doorbell as was his custom before knocking.

Olivia Flack opened the door, letting out a gasp of happy surprise. "Don!" she exclaimed. She then looked to the side, as if expecting to see another person. "Where's Anna?"

"No mom, I'm really good, thanks, no need to ask how I'm doing. What am I, chopped liver?" he asked sarcastically.

"Oh darling, you know I didn't mean it like that," Olivia admonished, reached forward and hugging him tightly. "It's just that you usually come with that beautiful girlfriend of yours that I expected to see her too." When Don didn't mention anything further, her knowing mother's instinct immediately jumped to the right conclusion. "Ah, let me guess, you've had an argument with her."

"And…you still haven't asked me how I am," Don pointed out, disgruntled.

"I'm taking that as a yes so really, there's no need to ask how you're feeling. You obviously don't feel like you're king of the world today," his mother replied, leading him into the kitchen.

"How could you possibly know that I've had a fight with her?" Don asked.

"You have that look your father used to wear when he forgot our anniversary," Olivia replied casually, grabbing a cookie jar from the pantry and handing one to her son, who took it gratefully. She waved him towards the back door. "Your father is whittling wood. Go and have some rare bonding time, hmm?"

"So you don't want to be my Jiminy Cricket today mom?"

"I think your dad has more experience with calming down a hot-headed woman than I do, darling," Olivia replied with a smile, chuckling as her son rolled his eyes and went out to the back porch. Sure enough, Donald Flack Sr. was there in his rocking chair, a piece of wood in his hands which he was carving a horse head out of. Don smiled as his father looked up at him and gave him a broad grin.

"Donnie! How're you my lad?" he asked.

"See, you know how to actually greet someone, unlike mom," deadpanned Don.

"I heard that!" Olivia called from inside, making her husband and son chuckle.

The younger Flack took his usual seat opposite his father on a wooden stool, leaning back against one of the porch posts. Wordlessly, Donald took a piece of wood out of the basket next to his chair and handed it over to Don, who retrieved his pocketknife and copied his father's motions. Don knew he wasn't the most talented at this – his brother Michael had done some pretty nifty things in wood whittling, and Sam had never been interested – but it gave him something to do, something to focus on and calmed his mind. He never forgot the first day he had done this with his dad, and the older man had said that wood whittling was one of the things that had kept him sane (apart from family) during his time as a detective.

"So…woman trouble?" Donald asked mildly.

"You could say that," mumbled Don, cutting excess wood off to get a roughly elliptical shape.

"What's it about? There are only a few things I think you and that spunky lass you've got for a girlfriend could really ever, truly fight about." He held his horse head closer to his lined face and began to carve in nostrils. "It's not about whether to get married or not, is it?"

"No dad, that's not even on our radar right now," the younger man replied with a touch of exasperation.

"Hmm," Donald hummed in consideration. "I sense some stubbornness about whatever issue it is."

"It's a few things," explained Don. He frowned as he almost accidentally chopped off the top of his egg. "We're having a bit of a communication problem lately."

"If you're coming to your dear old dad for advice, I'd say so," remarked Donald.

"Funny. But she hasn't told me about any of the things that have been bothering her lately. Someone's been stalking her trying to break us up, her self esteem has gone down and she's jealous about someone I work with at the precinct, and to top it all off, someone's been stealing money from her takings at the cafe. She told me about the stalker but…everything else…" Don trailed off wearily, shrugging. "I don't know dad. It's not like her not to want to talk. And I'm just…so _frustrated_ with it all."

"Did something set Anna off?"

The younger male winced as he remembered. "Yeah. I went out and got drunk with the woman she's jealous of," he replied.

"Now son, that was stupid."

"No, really? I couldn't tell."

"Easy with the sassin', boy," cautioned Donald. "Did you try and apologise?"

"Yeah. With flowers. But we ended up having the fight. I haven't really spoken with Savannah in a week," admitted Don sheepishly.

"Tell me more about what's happened," requested the older Flack.

Absentmindedly, the detective etched an elegant 'S' into his egg shaped piece of wood as he elaborated on the situation. "We got a new detective from AC at the precinct. Name of Kirsti Waverly. Redhead, short, thinks she's the bees knees. A total flirt with everyone but Savannah thinks she's after me especially. Savannah said that I'm naive, that I can't see what a man-eater she is. I don't see it. They don't like each other." He paused, turning the egg over in his hands and making a 'C' on the other side. "I told Anna I'm not attracted to or interested in Waverly in any way, but I don't think she believes me."

"Probably her self esteem issues you mentioned," reasoned Donald.

"Yeah. And her stalker hasn't helped, sending her messages saying that she doesn't deserve me and that she's fat and a slut. Savannah's also stressing about the fact one of her girls is stealing money from the til and she can't see it on the cameras. I hated that she kept her struggles to herself."

"You're frustrated because you feel like you can't do anything to help her and it's warring with the fact you care about her so much," Flack Sr. concluded wisely.

"Exactly!" cried Don. "I thought she trusted me."

"She does, son, she probably does. But from what I know of Savannah – and I'd like to say your mother and I have gotten to know her well – she's one for doing things on her own. She's a tough woman. She likes to prove to the world that she can handle it because she's bounced back well enough before. I think she's bitten off more than she can chew in the sense of what to handle personally and now she's probably regretting it," replied Donald, setting his wood and knife aside, paying his full attention on his middle child. No matter how old his kids got, he still saw them as youngsters, needing to be guided, nurtured, supported. He observed the avid eyes, the serious and concerned lines of his face and saw how heavily the issue weighed on his son's conscience. "Donnie…all you can do is keep trying to talk to her. Savannah will come around eventually. You are both as stubborn as each other. Keep being the man you've been for her all along," he advised.

Don turned the advice over in his mind and murmured, "I'm not used to this. This…worrying about how I've messed up."

"But that's good in a way. Shows you've grown," pointed out Donald with heightened respect warming his tone. "You wouldn't be a good partner if you didn't work at keeping your relationship healthy. I know that feeling well."

The younger man exhaled slowly, leaning back and directing his gaze to the roof of the porch, thinking. "Yeah," he muttered. "Thanks for the advice dad."

Donald got up and squeezed his son's shoulder. "Anytime. That's why I'm your dad. Now come on, let's get Olivia to paint that little ornament of yours so you can give it to Savannah."

Don seemed to recognise his finished work for the first time. The wood was smooth from the whittling, an almost perfect egg shape that fit perfectly into his hand when he loosely curled his digits around it. He had inscribed Savannah's initials into the wood and had also etched a basic drawing of a star in the middle of the initials on one side, and on the other was a flame.

"Nice," the older man praised.

"I hope Anna thinks so too."

"I've said it before, I'll say it again. Savannah's a good woman," remarked Donald.

Don nodded, smiling slightly as he looked down at the rudimentary crafted wood. That she definitely was.

* * *

Flack had gone to his apartment and changed before heading to Savannah's place. He would've called, but he feared that she wouldn't talk to him if he did. So instead, he would just show up.

He was disappointed when he knocked and used his key to enter to find that she wasn't there.

Resorting to calling her, Don dialled the engrained number in his brain and listened to the ringing tone. When it picked up, it wasn't Savannah who answered.

It was Jo.

"Howdy," Jo replied easily.

"Hey…where's Savannah?" Don asked carefully. He heard some low level chatter in the background and some music as well.

"We're at a place called Melvoy's. I think she needed some stress release, because she came in, slammed a shot of whiskey down and then headed straight for the dance floor. You gonna stay away like a scaredy cat or you going to come on down?"

"I am not a scaredy cat. And yes, I am. See you in ten," replied the blue eyed detective, hanging up and gunning it for his and Savannah's favourite bar. Part of him was relieved that Jo was looking out for Savannah, but the other part wondered just why they had felt the need to go out to a bar. When he arrived and finally found a park, Don headed for the entrance. As he approached, he heard Savannah's voice, belting out the last notes of 'Magic Man' by Heart – one of her favourite songs to sing. He waited until everyone in the car applauded before entering and making his way over to Jo.

The older woman wore a dressy shirt and skirt as she watched her second cousin up on stage preparing to sing her next song. She saw Don in her peripheral vision and turned to him. "You guys must have had a hell of a disagreement," she commented.

"Yeah," replied Don, watching as Savannah nodded her head to the beat of the new song that was playing. Her eyes were closed, lost in the soft opening.

"She's been singing her heart out ever since the phone call. It's like she's purging something from her system," Jo said.

They could only watch as Savannah began to sing, her voice slightly rough with emotion, a vulnerability projecting from the stage as gold lights brought out her features, bringing out the darkness of her hair and casting the illusion of a halo around her head. She sung with a conviction of emotion that captured her audience, tugged at their heartstrings. She was truly awe-inspiring.

_Ever wonder about what he's doing  
How it all turned to lies  
Sometimes I think that it's better to never ask why_

Savannah took a deep breath, clenching the microphone tightly and decided to give it her all.

_Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try_

Don's mouth dropped open slightly. This was brutal honesty conveyed through song. This was how she was feeling. With her eyes closed, she moved around the stage, moving emotively to the music and it rocked him to the core how raw it was. There was no sweetness here. It was pure anguish for what she _felt_ she had lost with him. He wanted to get up there and hold her close and assuage those worries. There was nothing that had been lost except for time not speaking.

_Funny how the heart can be deceiving_  
_More than just a couple times_  
_Why do we fall in love so easy?_  
_Even when it's not right_

Jo remarked softly, "Savannah's needed this. It's cathartic for her."

"I can tell. I got the message just then, I think."

_Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try_

_Ever worried that it might be ruined  
And does it make you wanna cry?  
When you're out there doing what you're doing  
Are you just getting by?  
Tell me are you just getting by, by, by_

The brunette's performance was riveting. The entire bar was silent save for the pounding music, wrapping Savannah in it's comforting tendrils and notes. She looked pained as she sung her heart out, face tilted up towards the stage lights which highlighted the feelings on her face.

Flack could only watch. He was full of wonder. That took a lot of guts to express yourself publicly like that – while it was at odds with how she was pulling back from everyone else. It was a poignant moment to witness. One he was very glad he had. He could understand her just a little more now, understand the motivations behind her recent behaviour.

_Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try try try  
Gotta get up and try try try_

The song ended to boisterous applause and Savannah opened her eyes, looking towards Jo and seeing Don there as well. A ripple of embarrassment and anger went through her but she let it flow past her. He looked unassuming, calm, and his eyes drew her in with such gravity that she couldn't help but walk towards them.

"You did good," Don complimented warmly once she got in hearing range.

Jo, sensing that her presence wasn't needed, shuffled off to the other end of the bar to give them some time.

"Thanks. How did you know I was here?" she asked, her cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of him seeing her performance.

"I called, Jo picked up. I wanted to see you and apologise all over again. I'm sorry," said Don softly. He had his hands jammed in his jeans pockets so he wouldn't reach out and hug or kiss her – Savannah didn't look receptive enough to it yet.

Savannah nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. "I know you are. I'm sorry too, it wasn't fair of me to blow up."

"Like you said, sometimes we just get those down days and I caught you at the wrong time. My attitude probably didn't help either," Don pointed out. "I know you're still upset and still need a little space, but I really wanted to give you a little something."

He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the wooden orb he had whittled, holding it out towards her. Olivia had painted it all a rich, dark purple and had followed the grooves of the initials and the simple symbols of flame and star in a muted silver. Savannah's breath hitched slightly and she reached out, gently touching the object. "You made it?" she asked reverently.

"Eh, just carved it. My mom painted it," he replied, shrugging. It wasn't a big thing in his mind, just a little token. Savannah's expression seemed to lighten as she took it and held it up to get a closer look at it. It was special to her immediately, he could see it.

"It's pretty."

"Like you are."

Savannah's expression turned guilty at the kind words and in remorse, she looked back at him. "Don, I…My head's still not straight. I'm just so emotional and I can't-"

"Hey, I get it. You're still a little mad with me, with the situations. It's fine," he assured her, finally giving in to the need for contact and reaching out to stroke her cheek. "When you decide you want to talk, we'll make a day of it and get everything out, clean slate, you name it."

"Thanks," Savannah said meaningfully, kissing his hand as it withdrew and taking a step back. "I promise I'll call you soon and I'll hold you to that promise."

"Just…if it gets too much, don't hesitate to call. I'm here for you," murmured Don sincerely. With a heavy heart, he turned and left. It didn't feel resolved. At least the first steps had been taken. Still, it left a sour taste in his mouth that Savannah had felt like she needed to hide herself away from him.

* * *

**A/N: So not everything is resolved, but at least they're friendly enough with each other again. How did you like seeing the problems from Don's view and the talks with his dad?**


	15. Showdown

**A/N: Here's another doozy! Thanks to Smuffly, SomebodyWhoCares, Kayla, JJ and Leslie Emm for the great reviews on the last chapter. I hope this chapter is just as good as the previous ones. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Some violence and swearing. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 15 – Showdown**

* * *

_You say you're gonna take him oh but I don't think you can  
Cause you ain't woman enough to take my man  
Women like you they're a dime a dozen you can buy 'em anywhere  
For you to get to him I'd have to move over and I'm gonna stand right here  
It'll be over my dead body so get out while you can_

**Loretta Lynn – You ain't woman enough (to take my man)**

* * *

"I can't wait to see his face when you give this to him."

"You think he'll like it?"

"Sam…Don's going to love it," Savannah said enthusiastically.

Sam had called her up first thing that morning, asking her to come over when she finished her day at the cafe to help finish up on the secret project she had been working on for the past few months. It was a very belated birthday present for Don. As Sam had lost the original present she was going to give her brother, she decided to take the time she needed and create something homemade and meaningful. She had brought Savannah in on the project simply because she wanted someone else's input.

Now, the present was finished.

It was a big canvas, four feet high and six feet wide. Navy stained braided leather that Savannah had braided herself edged the sentimental art. In the middle was a portrait of Don as sketched and coloured by Sam who had begun with that simple portrait and used it as the basis for all of the other elements in the artwork. Black ribbon extended out from the portrait, leading to photos and mementos from the detective's life so far, grouped in different categories in the four corners. One corner was of Don and Savannah, another of Don and his family, the third with his friends from the Crime Lab and precinct and the fourth showing his age progression. In the gaps between there were other recollections of Flack's life, including an NYPD patch, a small swatch of material from his first blanket, and almost hidden by a picture of Don with his first car was the memorial photo of Jessica Angell. It was beautiful without being ultra feminine. Both Sam and Anna had seen to that, keeping the colours of the scrapbook-like decorating to blues, greys, black, and greens.

Sam tilted her head to the side. "Are you _sure?_" she pressed.

Savannah chuckled and said, "Sam, if he doesn't like it I'll whack him over the head with my frypan."

The younger woman finally cracked a smile and then nodded in satisfaction. "Well, it's done. I can't exactly undo it."

"It's fantastic. I'm still a little mind blown that you're so artistic. I've read some of your journalism pieces, but I didn't expect this," the curly haired brunette remarked.

Sam shrugged. "I got the artistic side from mom. She loves to paint. So when dad and I used to fight, she would take me to her studio and get me to paint out how I felt and to calm me down. I've done bits and pieces over the years, but this is the first time I really wanted to do something professional looking."

"You've captured him beautifully," murmured Savannah, stepping closer to the finished piece and delicately running her fingertips over the painted lips stretched in Don's trademark smile that made her melt. She sighed, hating that her own obstinacy had caused a rift to form between them. He was doing the right things, giving her time. It had been two days since that night at the bar, and the only time he had contacted her was a little text saying he was thinking of her. It was so sweet it almost broke her down and made her give in to the urge to run into his arms.

The only reason she resisted is because she still felt like she couldn't talk about her feelings with the Waverly situation without getting mad again.

She was brought out of her thoughts by a hand resting on her shoulder. "Anna…are you okay?" Sam asked softly.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit," replied the youngest Flack conversationally. "That's the first time you've lied to me."

Savannah gave her a warning look and moved away. She drifted over to the window and then turned and paced back, obviously troubled. Sam pointed out, "This is what I mean. You're not as energetic as usual. It's…subdued."

"That's what everyone has been saying."

"Because they care about you. They actually do," the blue eyed woman emphasised. "When I was down, no one really asked how I was. They let me go because they didn't care. But you, Anna, you've got this group of people who care for you more than I was cared for when I was best friends with a vodka bottle. Weren't you the one that told me talking to someone about your problems was the best thing? Why aren't you following your own advice?"

"It's complicated," protested Savannah defensively.

"Everything is complicated. What else is new?" Sam shot back.

Savannah was impressed with her logic and figured that Sam had taken her advice. She might as well expose some of her issues. "What else is new? I'll tell you. I have a thief in my cafe who has no concept of remorse for their actions, I have a stalker who just _loves_ to tear down my self esteem, and I have a man-eater trying to get into Don's pants regardless of the fact he doesn't want her, and I didn't want to tell anyone because I _thought_ I could deal with it all," she replied bitingly.

Sam and Savannah just stared at each other after that.

"Wow. Tough shit," stated Sam.

The way it was said, in that calm, matter-of-fact tone got Savannah to smirk. "Ain't it just? I just didn't want to tell anyone because I didn't want to add to their problems…especially Don's."

"Love isn't about martyrdom. You can't keep everything to yourself no matter what my brother has on his plate. When he even gets a sniff that you've got a problem, he's like a police dog trying to track it down. It's better just to tell him," Sam said, speaking from experience. "He's no nonsense about that kind of thing."

"I did tell him…kind of…I more like yelled at him," Savannah replied despondently, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she remembered how irrational she had been.

"So you guys have had a fight? That's why you're like this?" questioned Sam. "Well no wonder you're acting the way you are. Your favourite happy drug has been taken away."

Savannah raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm sure Don will appreciate being referred to as a drug."

The younger woman rolled her eyes. "Point is, it hurts because you love him. It's okay that you guys had this fight because this is reality. People fight about these kinds of things."

"I know that! I know it would have been weird if Don and I never had _any_ fights ever, I just…I…" Savannah hesitated and then mumbled, "I just didn't think I'd be upset this long. I'm over it, I really am, I'm just too…"

"Stubborn," supplied Sam.

"Mmm-hmm," hummed the cafe owner.

The blue eyes took in the curly haired brunette opposite her, and then went over and considerately gave Savannah what she needed. A hug. She felt her stiffen as she hugged her, but Sam murmured, "Look, I consider you my sister already. When you want to talk, you'll talk, and I'll be here."

"Thanks," Savannah whispered in reply, embracing her in return. "You've been awesome. I think I'll go surprise Don tomorrow with some apology cheesecake or something nice like that."

"That's a great idea! And no worries."

After sharing a quick dinner together, Savannah left. When she was out on the sidewalk, she looked up to Sam's window and called up with a content smile, "Thanks again Sam! I had a really good time." When she got a wave in return, she went to walk down the street to the nearest subway station.

Kirsti Waverly, watching from her car opposite, gaped at the obviousness of this all. The bitch had just left a little rendezvous with her other lover. She leaped out of the car, intending to settle this once and for all. No hesitation, no thought to further cunning. It was going to be loud.

"Oi, Cormier!" she shouted, her high-heeled boots click-clacking up the pavement.

Savannah whirled around in shock, her pleasant mood evaporating rapidly at the sight of the redheaded menace that plagued her self confidence. "What the heck do you want Kirsti?" she asked lowly, feeling her anger spark just at the sight of her.

"I want to talk!"

"That's talking all right," Savannah muttered sarcastically as Kirsti got closer.

Kirsti held up her phone and exclaimed, "I've caught you in the act!"

"Caught me in the act of _what?_" demanded the taller woman, irritated. What the hell was this woman on about?

"Oh don't play the ignorant with me. Bitch," glowered the shorter woman.

It escalated quickly from there. They stood only three feet apart, animosity radiating off both women as they glared at each other, neither backing down, neither wanting to even consider surrender or something more civilised.

Savannah smirked mirthlessly, "I'm not the one acting like a dog in heat around a taken man."

Waverly's mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. "Of course I was after Flack. He's a handsome guy. I doubt you could really satisfy him. What he needs is a real woman."

"That's rich," snorted Savannah in complete disgust. She placed her hands on her hips, standing tall. No more beating around the bush, she was going to have it out and deal with this once and for all. "While we're having a deep and meaningful right now, I might as well fire away. You're so fake. Real woman? Ha! You, real? I doubt you were given boobs that big at puberty. Cheap silicone is more like it. You're a disgrace to womankind, you know that? Going after a man with no thought to his girlfriend, which is _me_ by the way, and duping him into thinking you're anything more than a phoney!"

"I'm fake? At least I'm not _fat_," taunted Kirsti.

"You call _me_ fat?!" Savannah laughed bitterly. "Oh I used to let that affect me, but right now I'm saying fuck it. Don loves a woman with meat on her bones, not a twig like you."

"He shouldn't love you at all!" Kirsti screamed in outrage. "You should have just left him alone bitch!"

"Why? If I had never been in the picture, you would have treated Don like the newest toy before dumping him like a hot potato for something new after you satiated your greedy lust for anything good looking with two legs," countered the brunette darkly. "He would _never_ be anything special for you. Not special like he is to me."

Kirsti's hands clenched and shook as her denial prevented her from absorbing the stark truth. "You wouldn't know – you can't predict the future. _Bitch_," she hissed.

"Is bitch the only insult you know? Pathetic!" growled Savannah, eyes flashing dangerously. "You can do whatever you want to try and lure him away from me, hell, even try doing a nude fan dance with a lettuce leaf, it won't work. He doesn't see you that way. And I'm gonna stand _right here_ in your way." Kirsti's face turned as red as her hair and Savannah went on, sudden insight to why she was so persistent appearing. "I bet you never got denied something you wanted before. Little Miss Waverly, always given whatever trinket she desired. And now that this glittering jewel of a prize is in front of you with me in the way – not to mention Don's conscience which you _evidently_ haven't factored in – you can't stand the fact that something hasn't happened the way you wanted it. You can't let it go…you _have_ to have it, isn't that right? You stupid slut."

"If I'm a slut, at least I'm not a cheater like you are! Who's the slut now?"

Frowning, the taller woman demanded, "Are you high? I have never cheated on anyone."

"You can deny all you want, but I've got all the evidence right here!" cried Kirsti, waving her phone in front of Savannah's face.

"Evidence? Show me what your tiny delusional mind thinks what the evidence is," ordered Savannah.

Kirsti, given the chance, steamrollered on. In a superior fashion, she played the recording of Savannah talking to Sam on the phone. "You're cheating on a guy you don't want anyone else to have with a guy called Sam!"

Savannah just stared at her in confusion. And then, she got it.

She laughed, loudly, harshly, realising just how the redhead had come to the conclusion.

Her laughter only incensed Kirsti further. "I've figured you out and you have the nerve to _laugh_?" she shrieked.

"Wait, this is one big misunderstanding," Savannah attempted to placate, making a calming motion with her hands.

"Misunderstanding? Oh, wait, let me guess, this is all one big mistake, that you didn't mean to fall into another man's bed?" mocked Waverly, baring her teeth in anger.

"No, I mean that you've got the wrong idea-"

"You know, that's what most people who cheat say?" Kirsti pressed, taking a step toward Savannah and poking her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," growled the brunette.

"Whore," spat the shorter woman, prodding her finger into her shoulder again. "You should have given him up as soon as you found someone else."

"You're out of your mind! If you would just _listen_ I can explain all of this, Sam isn't my lover, Sam is-"

"_SHUT UP!"_ screamed Kirsti, stunning Savannah into silence. A feeling of danger crawled up her back as she met the redhead's eyes, seeing the utter conviction and pure hatred there. This woman wasn't going to stop at nothing, Savannah realised, and prepared herself for fight or flight. "You aren't going to twist me with that innocent Southern Belle thing to me."

"Swallow your arrogance for one second and I can clear this all up," the brunette woman entreated with a steely tone in her voice.

Kirsti had enough. The bitch's charade had gone on long enough and she deserved to be cut down a peg or two. Without warning, she pulled her arm back and unleashed a punch towards Savannah's nose.

It never made it, blocked by Savannah's reflexes.

She had seen the attack coming, had dropped her bag and raised her arms to block the incoming blow.

The expression of total surprise and bewilderment on Waverly's face was Kodak worthy.

"Oh yes. I can defend myself," Savannah murmured acidly. She pushed the other woman away from her, eyes narrowed to slits in challenge. "I had the best teacher. Not to mention…" she trailed off as Kirsti kicked out, attempting to catch her in the stomach. She neatly dodged it and went on, "You are a terrible detective. You know nothing of what I've been through. I've taken on a murderer and a kidnapper. I've taken on an abusive ex. I've been tossed around through an emotional abyss more times than I can count. You think you can take me on? You're dreaming girl."

Growling, Kirsti pushed forward, swiping madly with her fists towards the brunette who smirked at the futile attempts, blocking them and moving backwards as the redhead got more frustrated with each missed punch.

Waverly then attempted to perform a roundhouse kick, but she was clumsy and missed Savannah by a good five inches.

Pissed off now, Savannah retaliated, given the perfect chance. With perfect accuracy, she unleashed a ferocious punch, catching the shorter woman on the left cheek and sending her stumbling back a few paces.

"Leave me alone," the taller woman snarled. "Back away now."

Kirsti didn't heed the advice. Looking more like a hell harpy than a model, she rushed at Savannah, arms outstretched, sending them both sprawling. It was a full on bitch fight – hair was pulled, they both writhed on the ground trying to get the upper hand and hands clawed at each other viciously. "I'm going to charge you with assault of an officer!" she seethed.

"Self defence, brainless," Savannah shot back, bringing her knee up to sink it into the skinny, flat stomach. As Kirsti grunted, Savannah took the opportunity and stood, backing away again. "I'm giving you one more chance to leave me alone," she said, breathing heavy from the struggle.

"I'll leave you alone the day I turn lesbian," jeered Waverly, jumping up and aiming another punch at Savannah.

The brunette was ready for it. What she wasn't ready for was the sudden high heeled boot that swiped her legs out from under her, sending her flying backwards.

It would have been something she would have recovered from had it not been for the lamppost behind her.

Savannah's last glimpse of the world just before her head hit the solid metal pole was that of Kirsti Waverly, a feral smile crawling across her features. Her skull collided with the post, the force of gravity pulling on her, adding to the strength of kinetic energy added from the attack, making her eyes roll back into her head with pain as she collapsed. As she hit the ground, blood began to trickle from the broken skin. She fell unconscious.

Kirsti just stared at the unmovable form. Part of her panicked. The Cormier woman could be on the way to death. But the other, larger, crueller part of her sneered. '_She'll get up soon,'_ the redhead assured herself, wiping the blood from a set of scratches on her neck and then spitting at the unconscious woman's feet.

She turned and left. It was easy not to turn and look back.

* * *

Samantha Flack just finished putting away her dishes from her evening meal with Savannah when she heard a racket out on the street. Two women shouting at each other. She rolled her eyes, disapproving. Some people should never take things out in public. To cut down on the noise, she moved to her front window and moved to shut it – she would lose some air flow, but she'd just turn on the fan instead.

Curiosity piqued, Sam looked down, wondering who was arguing and if it was any of her neighbours.

To see Savannah standing toe to toe with another woman having a shouting match was startling.

Sam watched on, transfixed, as the argument got more heated. She raced for her phone, dialling 911 but not calling just yet. For all she knew, this would blow over in the next few moments.

When Savannah and the redhead mystery woman exploded into a physical fight, Sam finally made the call.

"_911, what's your emergency?"_

"I'm Sam Flack, I'm here in my apartment watching my friend getting beat up by another woman," Sam rattled off quickly, her eyes wide as she watched Savannah hold her own, not directly attacking but fending off the shorter woman who looked insane. It looked like Savannah was winning, managing to get up first.

"_How serious is the fight?"_

Sam was about to reply when she saw Anna get tricked, saw her head hit the metal pole with a loud '_thunk'_ and fall to the ground, unmoving. She gasped in horror as the other woman snarled and then walked away with no compunction.

"_Ma'am? Can you please describe the fight?"_ pressed the operator.

"My friend just got knocked out and her attacker just ran away…I can't see her moving!" cried Sam, backing away and grabbing her keys and bag, rushing for the door. "Send an ambulance to this address." She then rehearsed her address rapidly as she sprinted down the stairs and out into the street, heart pounding and a part of her fearing for Anna's life. She reached the prone woman and dropped to the ground, frantically searching for signs of life. Seeing a trickle of blood coming from behind the dark curls, Sam put her fingers in front of Savannah's mouth and felt the slight intake of breath. "She's alive but get here quickly! There's blood!" She let the phone drop, uncaring about providing any more information.

"Shit," Sam cursed, carefully reaching to the back of Savannah's head, feeling the blood trickling past her fingers as she felt for the cut. She found it, and the bruise surrounding it, easily and applied pressure. "Damn it Savannah, I don't know if you can hear me, but stay with me."

The elegant face, usually bright with life and laughter, remained sickly.

Sam felt helpless, waiting for the sound of sirens. She swept her gaze over the area, making sure no further attacker was to come and produce two victims. She looked at her phone, wishing she could call Don and let him know, but not wanting to lift either hand off Savannah's body for fear of losing that connection. It was a struggle not to freak out. Sam had seen many things, but this…this was different. Was this how Don had felt when Savannah had been kidnapped?

"Don't you dare fall into some pissy little coma," she said fiercely, gazing into the closed eyelids. "I saw you fighting that chick and if it weren't for that dirty trick, you would have won. You're a fighter. Don't go into a coma. Don't you dare do that to Don, don't you dare do it to your CSI family, and don't you dare do it to _me_. You gave me something to strive for when I met you. You gave me hope. And…" she sniffled, feeling oddly emotional, "you're the closest thing to a sister I'll ever have. I wanted a sister. I was angry that I never got one. But then I got you. I don't want you to wake up without your memory or with some of your personality changed."

Sam perked up as she heard the shrillness of sirens. The usually grating noise sent a wave of ease over her heart.

As the ambulance pulled over, Sam knew that the hardest part was what was to come next as soon as Savannah was in the paramedic's capable hands.

Calling her brother.

* * *

**A/N: The muse ordered drama. I gave her drama. I gave her so much drama she'll be happy for the next two chapters (hopefully!). I know some of you really wanted to see Kirsti slapped, so, I did it. Kind of. **

**Yes, the muse is evil. I know. But if you leave more reviews, I'm sure she won't be as much. **


	16. Confrontation

**A/N: Looks like I surprised you all with last chapter! Great to see such wonderful responses from Smuffly, Leslie Emm, SomeoneWhoCares, JJ, Kayla, and Annabella Colt. Thanks guys. Because you guys asked so nicely, here's the next chapter early. Next update won't be until Saturday/Sunday because of work, so enjoy this. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 16 – Confrontation**

* * *

_And you should know that the lies won't hide your flaws  
No sense in hiding all of yours_

/-/

_Good god you're coming up with reasons  
Good god you're dragging it out  
Good god it's the changing of the seasons_

**Seether – Fake It**

* * *

Adam sighed and stretched in his seat, leaning back. He could finally catch five minutes to himself after processing all this evidence from a drive by shooting. All the results were filed and all he had to do now is deliver them to either Mac or Jo – whoever walked by first.

As he righted himself, Adam wondered if he should make a trip to the vending machines for a cookie or whether he should quickly check his Facebook to see if a friend of his would come through with that old school Xbox game Sonic Heroes.

Cookie vs. Xbox? Xbox won.

He was about to hop onto the computer when a case file, buried underneath a few more recent cases, caught his eye. In the simple block print it was labelled 'Cormier, S. #35469 U-P Stalking.' A thread of guilt caught the lab tech unaware and he realised he had let other cases get piled on top of Savannah's new evidence in her stalker case.

While he had a moment, he would process it and any evidence could run while he went to the vending machine.

Adam grabbed the file, opening up the evidence packet and taking the letters, envelopes and photos to the table to work on them. Methodically, he noted that he had been the first to process the evidence and got out his favourite canister of lime green fingerprint powder. It showed up well on anything dark coloured. As he worked, he felt his spirits sink as he found no evidence on the letters or envelopes as per usual. Absolutely nothing. He went over it with a magnifying glass, trying to see if there was anything that could clue them into the identity of the writer. The white ink and card was exactly the same as the last letters that had been processed. There was no residue, no evidence of epithelials and there was utterly nothing else he could do to them.

Discouraged, Adam moved on to the photographs, going over them with the fingerprint dust. He grimaced as he took in the nasty written word 'whore' emblazoned across the picture. He couldn't help but feel that whoever the person was that sent the letters wouldn't stop until they got _something_ out of Savannah.

He was about to test for epithelials when his eye caught on some ridge detail on the top left hand corner.

Adam stared unbelievingly.

A partial print!

Instantly his mood lifted and he reached for his camera, focussing in on the half print and clicking away.

Intuition told him to check the same place on the other photo that read 'fatty.'

Sure enough, another partial print surfaced once he had dusted it. Adam grinned and let out a little giggle of excitement. The stalker had made a mistake at last! If they were in the system, they would finally find out who had been causing Savannah so much trouble. Carefully preserving the evidence to make sure that once the perp was found, his methods weren't called into question, the lab tech uploaded the picture of the prints onto the computer system, tagging them with the case number. With some clever computer work, he managed to reconstruct an almost full print from the two halves.

In one click, the computer system was off and running, searching all AFIS databases.

Smiling in satisfaction, Adam wandered to the vending machine while awaiting the results. As he picked out a cookie, he reflected that it would be _amazing_ to actually give Mac and Flack some good news if AFIS spat out a result.

A minute later as he entered his corner of the lab, Adam fist-pumped the air as the computer screen flashed 'Match Confirmed.' He eagerly clicked on the flashing sign.

And stopped mid-chew of his cookie, instantly recognising the face of the person whose picture came up on the screen. A complete 'what the hell' look fixed on his face, simply staring and hoping that it wasn't true.

The soft 'ping' of the elevator doors opening caught Adam's attention. Seeing Mac disembark, he poked his head out of the door and called, "Mac, you really need to see this!"

The older man frowned, sensing Adam's urgency, and changed his path, moving to Adam. "What's this about?" he asked briskly.

"Savannah's stalker – I finally got around to the new evidence – and I found two partials on the photos. I entered them into AFIS, and it came up with this," blabbed the younger man, stepping aside and showing his computer screen. The haughty expression of Detective Kirsti Waverly stared back at them with piercing indigo eyes and a secret smile.

"Waverly? Detective Waverly, the one that has been working with Flack lately," Mac realised, scrutinising the photo and identification details with steely eyes. "Was this the only thing you found?"

"There was _nothing_ Mac. The photo was where she got sloppy," said Adam. He gulped and went on, "Mac…Savannah's stalker must be her. We've got to let Flack and Anna know."

"Collate all the evidence and give it to me. I'll go and confront her with Flack right now," replied Mac determinedly, crossing his arms. "If Waverly is definitely her stalker, she's going to rue the day she ever decided to transfer to New York and have a vendetta against Anna."

* * *

Flack was at his desk and checked the time. 10pm.

Another two hours to go and enough paperwork to fill in that time.

Joys.

The buzzing of his phone alerted him to a call. It was Mac. Wondering which evidence had just came through, he answered, "This is Flack."

"Don…we may have a lead on Savannah's stalker." It was just like Mac. No beating around the bush, just straight into it. Flack's entire attention was focussed on the voice in his ear and he replied, "How good is the evidence?"

"A fingerprint on the latest photos. Not to mention, I think there might be motive," the CSI answered. He paused and then said, "But Flack, you're not going to like who it is. You have to be calm."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you," Mac said sternly. "You can't interrogate them by yourself."

"Hell Mac, it can't be that bad, just tell me for Pete's sake!" Flack huffed out in exasperation.

There was a beat of silence before the even tone of Mac finally revealed the identity of the stalker. "Don, the fingerprint came back to the new detective you've been working with. Kirsti Waverly."

Don was floored.

He leaned back in his seat, mouth dry, numbness setting in. Waverly had done that? He knew the women didn't like each other. But to put a venomous spider in an envelope and mind fuck with all of them with the rest of the letters, especially battering Savannah's conscience? That was beyond dislike, that was malice. That was an unhinged mentality. It was sick. Clearing his throat, the blue eyed detective clarified, "And her prints were the only ones on them?"

"Yes. I'm on my way down now with the evidence," Mac responded grimly. "Is she there?"

"No," murmured Flack, still shell-shocked by the turn of events. "She mentioned having to talk to a suspect."

"In the meantime, call Savannah. Let her know what we've found. See you soon."

Hanging up the phone, the detective stared at it in his hands before moving his line of sight to the desk opposite him.

Waverly…Waverly had threatened Savannah.

Savannah had been right about her. There was something just _off_ and now they knew what it was.

Frustration and remorse rose up in equal fervour, taking over the numbness. He should have listened to Anna. He had thought she was just being a little stubborn and jealous of the fact he was spending more time at work with Waverly in the context of being detectives. Foolishly he had brushed off her instincts and in the process treated her like an unknowing child. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched it, annoyed that he hadn't seen it coming.

Hindsight always was the most perfect 20/20.

His phone buzzed again.

It was Sam.

Sighing, he answered, "Sam, what's up? This is a bad time."

"Screw the bad time," Sam shot back. She was in the ambulance, almost at Trinity General with Savannah, who was still unresponsive. "Whatever's going on with you, it can wait."

"What makes you say that?"

"Don…this isn't easy to say. And don't freak out on me. I've been freaking out enough for the both of us," she said, tension tight in her voice making Don's detective's gut feeling rise uneasily. "I'm almost at the hospital – Savannah was attacked and she's unconscious."

Flack was rocked in shock to his core for the second time. "Attacked? How?" he demanded.

"She had just left my place after dinner when I heard voices in the street. I look out the window and there she is in a punch up with this short redheaded woman. And she almost won too if that idiot hadn't tripped her and made her crack her head open on a pole," Sam explained rapidly, waiting for her brother's inevitable explosion.

A chill went down his spine. "What did the woman look like? Say it again."

"Redhead. Short. Couldn't tell eye colour from in my apartment," Sam replied.

Flack's blood boiled and inhuman rage swelled within him, fighting against his self control. In a low, rough voice, he asked, "Can you stay with Savannah until I get there? I have a loose end to tie up."

"Will do," she answered, and hung up.

Red flashed in front of Flack's eyes and he carefully put his phone on his desk before he threw it across the room into the nearest wall. Savannah had been attacked. She had been made a victim _again_. And all because of the whims of an evil twisted woman who he had thought would come good as a detective. While he was worried for Savannah, he couldn't race over to the hospital yet. He was going to throw the book at Waverly. If she confessed, it would be jail time for sure.

Familiar negative emotions began to spiral upwards and outwards, causing Don to anchor himself with ropes and chains of self control. It would cast a bad reputation upon him to go around raging at people no matter how he felt. No matter how much the person who had been hurt meant to him.

The doors of the bullpen opened, revealing the slender form of Kirsti Waverly.

Flack felt an intense pulse of satisfaction at seeing her face. She had a noticeable bruise on her left cheek and a set of angry red scratches on her neck. The momentary satisfaction was drowned by disgust at seeing her do her usual obvious strut to her desk, seemingly nonplussed about her injuries. There was something different about her eyes. Spite. Victory. No shame, no care. It hit him then that Waverly, a _detective,_ hadn't called 911 after Savannah had hit the ground – he would have heard about it earlier if she had.

That was sub-zero cold.

Rigid control weakened slightly and he stood, glaring at her. "Waverly. Interrogation room. Now."

The redhead had the temerity to look confused. "What's going on?" she asked innocently.

"Don't question my orders. I'm still your superior. Do it," Flack replied in a low, hard voice.

Waverly was stunned and she slowly walked off towards the interrogation rooms. Don watched her go, fuming at how well she had fooled him. Acting arrogant but hiding most of her wants in plain view by being a flirt and tease with everyone. He remembered how she had always brushed up against him and the way she dressed, seeing it as an elaborate plan to interest him. It hadn't worked, so she had gone after the one thing in her way. Savannah. Growling, he tucked a pair of handcuffs in his pocket and waited for Mac to arrive. If anyone could hold him back, Mac could.

Five minutes later saw an enraged Flack and a disdainful Mac enter the room where Kirsti was standing petulantly, hands on her hips.

"Finally you're here," she complained.

"Shut up. Sit down," barked Flack.

Kirsti's mouth dropped open in alarm at the harsh tone but mechanically did as he ordered. Once seated, Mac came forward, silent although his eyes told the true story of revulsion for the redhead. Slowly, he put forward the evidence pictures of Savannah's stalker photos with the fingerprints standing out clearly in the green. Then, he put forward the rest of the evidence and stepped back.

Blue eyes glinted with anger as he leaned on the desk, intimidating, relishing the turnaround in Waverly's expression. Her face was blank but her eyes were anxious. "You recognise these?" he asked.

She glanced down and then shook her head. "No. Never seen these before."

Don turned to Mac with a bitter smile. "What do you reckon Mac? Bullshitter at its best?"

"Undoubtedly," replied the older man.

Turning back to Kirsti, he shot back, "These are the stalker letters that were sent to my girlfriend Savannah. Sure you don't recognise them?" He pushed them closer to the red-haired woman, who bit her lip and shook her head.

Don slammed his hand down on the table, making the other people in the room jump as he snapped, "Cut the act Waverly! You wrote these and sent them to her. Don't deny it anymore because we caught you. This here," he pointed his finger to the fingerprint evidence, "is _your_ fingerprint. The only evidence we found, and it's yours."

"But-"

"And, to top it off, just after I hear that we've found the stalker, I get a call saying that Savannah had to be taken to the hospital after a fight with a woman who, by eyewitness statement, is redheaded and short," he rambled on fiercely, every line of his body taut with fury as his eyes glared holes into the woman. "There's only one person I know who fits that description and she's sitting in front of me."

"Wait, let me explain-"

Again, Flack cut her off in a harsh tone. "Explain what? You did this because you had a crush on me and I didn't see you like that? Who gives a shit, you should have built a bridge and gotten over it! Your reasons are so flimsy I could blow 'em away in the wind."

Kirsti stood, stamping her foot and yelling, "Listen for one second!"

"No!"

"Don, wait…let's see how much she can embarrass herself," Mac cut in, moving forward to place a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder, seeing the emotional restraints fray and begin to fall apart. Don would have to cool off a bit to get more information out of the vile woman.

Kirsti turned cold eyes to the CSI. "Just you both wait until I show you _my _evidence," she ground out.

"Evidence of what? Your stupidity?" Flack replied with acid sarcasm.

Scowling, morphing her once pretty features into something ugly, Waverly crossed her arms and cried out arrogantly, "Your precious girlfriend was _cheating_ on you, you numbskull."

Both men froze before Don snorted. "Pfft, yeah, right, and soon pigs will fly."

"I'm not making this up!" she persisted, rummaging around in her pocket for her phone and holding it up. "I have proof! That's why I was trying to scare her away because she was being a liar, having you all to herself while two-timing you and not letting anyone else have some fun," Kirsti whined.

"Last time I checked, I'm a human being, not an object or your plaything," pointed out Flack tersely, "and secondly, what gives _you_ the right to make that decision for a person?"

"I-"

"You can't always have what you want and you can't hold the puppet strings on someone else's life," Mac advised sagely, coldly regarding the redhead as she looked between them irritably, face red due to this upset.

"Urgh!" she growled. "Listen to this!"

Kirsti then played the short clip of conversation she had gotten from the Comfort Cafe that day, watching their faces for a reaction, seeing only befuddlement. When it finished, she then searched her photos and said determinedly, "Look, I have followed her and she's been going to this address once a week for over a month! Flack, she's cheating on you with a guy called Sam!"

Flack recognised the building front that was in the picture easily.

Then, abruptly, severely, a bitter sound that was meant to be laughter erupted from his voice box and he hunched over, unbelieving at how such a big misunderstanding had occurred.

If possible, Kirsti's face got even more beetroot red. "Why the hell are you laughing?" she shrieked, looking insane with her eyes popping out and waving her arms around. "I just told you your _amazing_ spectacular girlfriend has been an unfaithful bitch with a man called Sam, and you _laugh?"_

The laughter stopped as Flack slammed his hand on the table again, sending Waverly scooting back to her seat, flinching away from his deadly looking blue eyes that held nothing but loathing for her. He seemed to tremble as if holding himself back from wrapping his hands around her neck and his expression was hard as rock and unyielding. Mac was at the ready to tackle the taller detective if the battle for that tenuous control was lost.

"You…are the worst detective ever," Flack finally ground out.

"Hey, I-"

"Don't you dare open your mouth until I'm done," he barked, fire in his eyes. "If you were a better detective, you'd know that I have a sister. Her name is Samantha. And we call her Sam for short." A finger stabbed the photo displayed on the phone. "This building? My sister lives there. So it isn't a man Anna's been seeing. She hasn't been cheating on me. But you'd know that if you'd bothered to look past your own nose and your selfishness."

Slowly, the realisation sunk in and a look of abject horror etched into Kirsti's face as she realised her leverage was for nothing. She didn't care that she had hurt Anna – she only cared that now she looked even more unsympathetic than before.

Caustically, Flack cried, "Congratulations! You just put my girlfriend in the hospital for hanging out with my sister!"

The redhead just slumped in her seat to make herself appear smaller and turned her head away.

Disgusted, Flack swept the evidence file onto the floor and looked to Mac. "Arrest her." He then fled from the interrogation room. He had a hospital to get to.

Mac stepped toward Waverly as Don left, roughly getting her hands and cuffing them together – it was easy with her form limp with surprise at being found out and her true inner ugliness revealed. He did it with a certain relish, now that they all knew who had been tormenting Savannah. "Detective Kirsti Waverly, you are under arrest for the stalking, assault, and grievous bodily harm upon Savannah Cormier. You have the right to remain silent…"

* * *

**A/N: Wow, this was excruciating to write because I had to have Don get those heartrending calls so close to each other. I know you wanted to see Waverly come to harm, but there are other ways to hurt people more than physical harm. Regardless, reviews tell me how I went and I appreciate them dearly. **


	17. Awakening

**A/N: *blush* Aw, shucks guys, thank you for such amazing reviews! I've been a bit busy which is why that's taken a day more than usual to post. To CSINYNUT, SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, Kayla, Annabella Colt, Leslie Emm, Forest Angel, and JJ, you guys are freaking awesome. I hope you like this too!**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Swearing

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 17 – Awakening**

* * *

_Taking shortcuts through the alleys  
While you're racing through my mind  
Cops can chase but they won't catch me  
Not before I get to speak my mind_

**The Script – Talk You Down**

* * *

Savannah woke to bright lights.

She groaned in dismay, knowing what that antiseptic smell was instantly. She was in the hospital. Again.

She sat up, ignoring the dizzy feeling as she did so and looked around. She was alone. Good. Ordinarily she would have been bothered by the fact no one was waiting, but she was far more annoyed that she was in the hospital. All she had done was hit her head (thanks to a redheaded harpy). It surely wasn't that serious to bring her here and make a big fuss. Spying her clothes on a nearby chair, neatly folded, Savannah got up and slowly got changed. She wasn't going to wait for some doctor to give her the all clear. Screw them! She wanted out, and she wanted to get out now – Lord help those who wanted to get in her way.

Once suitably dressed, the brunette moved to the window in the door, peering out.

Must be her lucky day, no one was around! No nurse or a Flack in sight.

She slipped out of the room, casually walking down the corridors of the hospital. There was a churning in her gut that lessened with every step she took away from the room. In the moments of awareness in there, Anna had felt an oppressive amount of claustrophobia. Which was why she had to leave.

When she reached a set of elevators, she furtively looked around, observing that no one really took notice of her – regardless of the bandage that looked more like a hair accessory wrapped around her head. In her normal clothes, she looked like someone visiting, not a patient. She stepped into the lift and went down to the 2nd floor. They had something that might interest her there.

* * *

"What's been the hold up?" Samantha Flack demanded of the reedy man with the oversize spectacles that she was sure wasted other people's time for the fun of it.

"Ma'am, you are not Ms. Cormier's next of kin and-"

"I might as well be!" Sam shot back, staring the doctor down. "Her parents are dead, and her aunt and cousin can't make it here this late at night. I'm her friend. I'm her boyfriend's sister. I am her family."

The doctor cleared his throat, sounding of phlegm and said, "Ms. Flack, I'm afraid I can't let you see her just yet, there's a problem with-"

"Sam!"

Both of them turned to see a poker faced Don stride up the hospital corridor to them, resolute. Sam went to him, seeking solace in the shelter he provided in his arms, her big brother coming to make everything better. They both turned to the nonplussed doctor who was scribbling something on his clipboard. "The nurse said to come up this way to find Savannah Cormier," Flack said.

"And you are?" the doctor said in a bored tone.

'_Oh, one of these kinds of doctors,'_ thought Don disdainfully. He pulled off his detective badge to shove it in front of the other man's nose and announced, "Detective Don Flack. I happen to also be Ms. Cormier's boyfriend. I can provide any details you need, but I want to see her now."

Instantly, the doctor went from bored to attentive. "Right, of course. But you see there is a slight problem."

"Problem?" questioned the Flacks.

"Ah…yes. She may be highly irritable when she awakens due to the heavy dose of painkillers the nurse injected. She may be disoriented. We found nothing upon an examination of the affected area that may be cause for high alarm – we doubt she will lose memory or anything such. She's all stitched up and able to be taken home, but she may be moody," the doctor rambled in a tone of high self importance.

"Right. Well, that's nothing we can't handle," Don replied, raising an eyebrow in a clear indication for the old man to get on with it.

The doctor sniffed in affront before leading them down the winding corridors of the hospital and reaching a door. As he opened it, he stopped and looked distinctly disoriented. "One moment please," he murmured, stepping out and checking the sheet next to the door. "I'm sure this was her room…"

"Are you telling me that Savannah isn't here?" Don asked tersely, unbelieving.

"Pardon me for one moment Detective Flack, they may have moved her," the doctor said nervously. He pushed past the two Flacks staring icily at his retreating back.

"I can't believe she got _him_ as a doctor," Sam said sharply.

"You and me both," sighed Don. It was 11pm at night and he was tired but his mind was active like he had just drunk five coffees. He was worried about Savannah, regretting the harsh words that they had thrown at each other and the strained silences. The knowledge she had been right all along about Waverly weighing heavier than lead on his conscience. "Hell, what a day."

Sam tugged on his arm, directing him to a set of chairs nearby. As they sat, she asked, "What took you so long to get here?"

"We arrested who attacked Savannah. The new detective. Waverly. Thanks to your description we got her," the detective replied quietly, pondering on recent events.

"A detective?" Sam asked sceptically.

"Not anymore," Don said firmly, the anger at Kirsti coming back slightly at the reminder. "She…she attacked Anna because she was after _me_. I didn't really see it until now and I feel like the biggest idiot in the world. She was Anna's stalker, trying to drive her away. And you know why?"

Hesitantly, his sister asked, "Why'd she do it?"

"Because she thought Anna was cheating on me with a guy called Sam."

Sam's mouth dropped open and a look that encapsulated 'WTF' crossed her face as the situation sunk in. Don's eyes were grave and bitter, mouth pressed in a tight line that told her he was serious. "This Sam being me, right? Because Anna's been spending some time with me lately."

"Correct," answered Flack dully.

"Wow. That's messed up."

"You think?"

"Don't snap at me, I'm not the one who was being a stubborn bonehead when it comes to women," Sam pointed out. When he threw her a look, she just stared right back. "Last night Savannah was at my place. I can _so_ see that she wants to let us all in but something is holding her back. It isn't like her, and I think her jealousy of this Waverly woman made her paranoid on top of everything else."

"She wouldn't let me apologise, you know," Don murmured. "I tried to talk it out but we didn't."

"Uh, last time I checked, that's what happens occasionally. Do you remember that time we were in our teens and mom and dad didn't talk for almost a month over that stupid little issue?" the younger Flack reminded him.

"Oh yeah, dad forgot to take out the trash one night and the kitchen stunk of fish for two days after because of that," he recalled.

Nodding, Sam replied, "Exactly. And that was over _trash_."

"I see your point."

Feeling some sympathy, Sam draped an arm around her brother's tense shoulders and hugged him. They sat in silence for a little while before the doctor came rushing back towards them, appearing harried and panicked. The siblings instantly sat up straighter, waiting for the news.

"She's gone."

Don swore his heart just stopped and felt the blood drain from his face. "What the hell do you mean she's gone?" he cried.

"I mean, she got up out of bed, changed into her clothes and walked out of here. That shouldn't have happened! She was under the right dose of painkillers to keep her under! The nurses didn't notice her leave and the cameras show that she headed for the elevators. We're getting security to track her right now," the doctor wailed dramatically.

Don rolled his eyes, aggravated. He thought for a second the head wound was more serious than the doctor had made it out to be. "Look pal, take a valium. We'll look for her," he instructed, standing and stalking off towards the nurses' station, Sam trailing behind. When he got there, he saw two nurses talking intently to each other. He interrupted them by flashing his badge and asking, "Savannah Cormier. Where do the cameras show her going?"

"The elevators to the north," one of them answered.

"Thanks," he replied succinctly, moving on.

"Slow down!" called Sam, jogging after her brother's long, determined strides.

"No. Anna's giving me a freaking heart attack by pulling a stunt like this," Flack retorted roughly.

Sam frowned, tugging on his shoulder in a bid to slow him. "When you find her, that attitude isn't going to help. When you do that to me, I tell you to get lost. What do you think she'll do when she's just been attacked?" she put forward, trying to get him to see reason. When he paused, she felt success. "For all we know she was hungry and went to get some better food. Or maybe she's disoriented like the doctor said."

Huffing to calm down, Don decided to shake it off. A bad attitude would only make things worse. Sam was right. "Okay. Let's just find her."

As they got to the elevator bay, Sam rushed ahead, scrutinising the plaque describing the facilities available on each floor. "Says here that there's a cafeteria on level 1. Should we check there first?"

Don perused the list, a slight knowing smirk tilting his lips when he found what he was searching for. "No. I think I know where she's gone though." He pointed to the part where it read: 'Level 2: Garden and Physiotherapy.'

"What makes you think she's there?"

"Savannah goes to her garden on top her of building when she's either emotional or needs to think. Betcha anything she's there probably smelling some roses and completely unaware of the fact she's stressing everyone out," replied the elder Flack, pressing the 'down' button impatiently.

"I'll check the cafeteria anyway, on the off chance you're wrong," Sam said.

As he disembarked after the trip down, Don took a moment to look back at his sister. "Hey Sam…thanks for being there tonight."

She gave him a genuine smile. "No problem big brother," she replied as the doors closed.

Flack looked around, spotting the sign that pointed him to the garden area. He was surprised the place was still open. He opened the door and knew instantly that no matter what, Savannah would have made her way here eventually. It was calming – probably the point of it, to calm the patients down if they got difficult. The garden easily took up a quarter of this floor and was glassed in for the most part before opening up to a wide balcony where the flora continued. It was verdant and alive – so different to the sterile hospital.

Don followed the path into the greenery, alert blue eyes scanning intently for the familiar figure.

He turned a sharp corner and found her. She was sitting on the grass in front of a patch of sweet pea and gardenia, her legs out to the side and her head bent towards the plant life. Moonlight shone through the windows caressing with ghostly tenderness the peaceful form enjoying the comforts of nature.

She looked more at ease than he had seen for a little while. Don couldn't be the least bit upset at Savannah for going and doing something that made her happy – he still wasn't pleased, but he was willing to let it go for the moment. He approached slowly, softly, until he was standing behind her. He cleared his throat loudly and whispered, "Savannah."

She tensed, gradually turning until she faced him, looking sheepish. "Hi," she murmured, not meeting his eyes.

Flack just took her in. The white bandage against the darkness of her hair made it seem even more stark. There were bags under her eyes and she seemed unusually frail. It still made his heart race and he loved her anyway. He lowered himself to the ground in front of her, gently touching the side of her face to indicate he wanted to look into her eyes. "You worried me," he said simply.

Savannah's green grey eyes told the story of her emotions. Joy he was there. Anxiety because she had been discovered in her escape from the room. Weary from holding in her burdens. And a helplessness because she didn't know how to go forward. "I'm sorry for that. I really am. I hope too many people aren't freaking out – I just couldn't stay inside that hospital room." She shivered slightly and continued, "I felt like the walls were closing in on me."

"You could have just told someone baby," Don replied softly, relieved. "I was also worried that you got hurt too, you know."

"It was Waverly," Savannah jumped in, realising that she needed to make a report.

"We know," assured Don, placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "We know she was the one who attacked you. Sam saw the whole thing. Mac arrested her."

"Don, she-"

"We'll talk about it later. I know the story," he interrupted kindly as the brunette made a move to get up. "I'm more concerned about you. You got knocked out and the medical funmakers had to put some stitches in."

Rolling her eyes slightly, Anna replied, "It's not like I asked for a concussion as the order of the day."

"I know you didn't."

Feeling like she got chastised, Savannah just sighed, running her fingers through the grass to have something to fill the silence. Don just shook his head slightly in astonishment. Even now she wouldn't talk. "Anna, I'm not berating you for getting hurt. That was all Waverly's fault. She hurt you. But when I saw her, saw what you did to her in return, baby I was _proud_. You fought back," he said emphatically.

That got the curly haired woman to perk up a bit. "Of course I did. I'm not a doormat to the likes of her."

He smiled at her and then got up, offering his hand. "C'mon. Let's blow this popsicle stand," Don joked.

Finally, a smile from Savannah. Warmth suffused his heart when he saw it and he realised just how much he had missed it. Her hand slid into his and he helped her up, supporting her with an arm around her back. Oh, he had missed this too.

Savannah seemed to feel the same for she instantly curled into him to wrap her arms around him, inhaling the comforting smell of her boyfriend. She voiced what they were both feeling. "I missed this."

"Me too."

"I'll promise to act like an adult if we go home and talk, not act like a hormonal teenager," Savannah promised.

"I don't think you acted like a teenager. Just like someone with a lot on their plate. Anyway, sounds good to me," Don replied, grateful that at last they were getting somewhere.

They located Sam – who almost knocked Savannah over with the force of her desperate hug – who was in the elevator when they stepped in to go back up to the 4th floor where Savannah's room originally was. "Nice way to stress us all out," the younger woman teased with a big smile.

"Will a strawberry tart help ease it tomorrow at the cafe?" asked the cafe owner, tears coming to her eyes at the show of support.

"Definitely," Sam replied.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue," Savannah said appreciatively. "I heard you found me."

"Too right I did. Let's just say I never want to find you that way again," Sam said in a more subdued tone, sympathy lacing it. "It was just wrong to see how much blood came out of that tiny little cut."

Anna touched the bandage at the back of her head, grimacing at the feel. "I'm sure it would have been."

The two Flacks accompanied her to the nurses' station, where her doctor looked ready to pass out when he saw her. He was too befuddled to give her a lecture, instead looking like he couldn't sign her out of the hospital fast enough. Sam and Don had to hide smirks at his frantic behaviour as Savannah calmly signed off on the medical forms and got a prescription for pain killers and instructions to see her GP to take the few stitches out in a few days.

The couple dropped Sam off at her apartment and then travelled to Savannah's in a comfortable silence. They were just too glad that everything had turned out for the better.

When they got into the apartment, Don said, "You realise that this is going to be a full on talk we're going to do. No hesitation, just come out and say what we need to say. Cut to the chase, skipping the BS."

Nodding, the brunette replied, "I know. And I think it's overdue."

Wordlessly, they took their favourite places to sit. The detective on the wide, comfy couch and Savannah in her wicker armchair. They both knew that if they sat side by side, touching, the talk would be too emotional. They needed to have a serious discussion and comfort could be given when they were done. Savannah draped her purple throw over her knees, playing idly with the material to stem her nerves.

Don just jumped straight into it. Once they were done talking, he could have Savannah in his arms again. Win-win for everyone in his eyes.

"I want to talk about what happened with Waverly and why she attacked you," he said.

The fight came back into the grey-green eyes and she was off. "You know the reason why she confronted me earlier? It was because she thought I was cheating on you. She ranted and raved about having all this evidence and insulted me the whole time and it was when she mentioned Sam that I tried to explain that Sam was your sister, not another lover," she described.

"That's what she confessed to down at the station as well. But you know the original reason why Mac and I were going to confront her anyway?"

"No, I don't."

"Waverly turned out to be your stalker," revealed Don curtly in remembrance of the disgust he had felt in the interrogation room. "Adam found two partials on those photos she sent and they belonged to her once he did some technical mumbo-jumbo with the prints."

Savannah blinked and then frowned. "Wow. What a petty self-absorbed individual." A sudden thought occurred to her and she exclaimed, "How on Earth did she manage to get that poisonous spider into the envelope without herself being bitten?"

Don hadn't thought of that. He wore a matching frown and replied, "I have no idea. We could always ask but something tells me she won't exactly be thrilled to talk to either one of us."

Snorting, Savannah said sarcastically, "Are you kidding, she'll be thrilled to see me after that punch and scratches I gave her. We'll discuss the latest Cosmo, giggle about how we got tipsy on Mojitos and had a brawl and have a D'n'M."

Don chuckled at her dry humour. "Let's get back on topic. She's going down for assault and a few other things and she'll be out of our lives forevermore because I'm going to get a restraining order on our behalf when she gets out of jail – Mac and Graham are going to see that all the t's are crossed and i's are dotted."

"Good. It's a relief she's out of our lives," she responded vehemently.

"Now that right there we have to address. Your feelings about Waverly and why you couldn't tell me earlier just how much you were struggling with the concept that I had to work with her. Oh sure, you might have hinted at it in conversation but you never did come out and tell me, 'Hey Don, I think your co-worker is a backstabbing bitch with a moral range of a small teaspoon.' I just want to know why," he murmured in a gentle tone.

Shrugging abashedly, Savannah hummed in thought before replying, "I think the main reason was because I didn't want to cause trouble for you. I didn't want you to have to foist her off on someone else because of my insecurities. I didn't want to be seen as less of a person because I had that instant, instinctual dislike for Waverly."

"But I feel bad for not listening to your instincts. I feel responsible." He paused, coming to grips with his own guilt in this. "You told me she was trouble," pointed out the detective.

"I did, but what proof did I have?" countered Savannah rationally. "I felt like this trivial, clingy person every single time I thought of you guys out doing your jobs and she would be flashing her stash or something to get your attention. When you got drunk that night, out with her…I felt like all the bad scenarios that I had imagined were going to happen." She sighed and admitted, "And you were right that day we shouted at each other. I was a bit jealous of her."

"Why?" asked Don. "I never thought you had anything to be envious of."

"It's just the way she carries herself. Like she's hot shit and she knows it too. I felt threatened by that, I was threatened by the way she looked, so flawless and perfect," replied Savannah blandly.

It was Flack's turn to snort disbelievingly. "Oh come on Savannah. You could be wearing a neon baggy sweatshirt and hideous billowy pants or something like that and I will still find you sexier than Waverly in her little skin-tight get-ups. I can't look at other women and compare them to you because there's just no comparison – you win out every time," he impressed on her. "I get that you feel self-conscious sometimes, and I know I'm gonna have to keep telling you that, but I don't care. If I have to tell you that you're the most beautiful person in my life every day, I'll do it."

Savannah swore her heart melted into a puddle of goo at that – nice to see that he was being so sweet even after all the drama. She felt the butterflies flying around in her stomach in hope. "You don't have to. Most of the time I know you find me attractive, but something about Waverly just pulled those insecurities out and left them there to fester. I hated it."

"Which is why we should have discussed this."

"I know, I know," huffed the brunette. "I just felt weak for admitting it."

Don kept his irritation from showing. He couldn't fault her from wanting to seem strong and in control – he had the same tendencies. Patiently, he mentioned, "If I'm working with someone that makes you uncomfortable, just say the word, I'll do _something_. Have you ever known me to sit still and not help you?"

"No. But Don, you're a handsome guy. Women are going to pay attention to you. That was part of my reason – like if I couldn't handle you getting some attention from this one, persistent woman, how was I going to cope if another one comes along in the future?" reasoned Savannah, providing the flip side to his point. Seeing him look affronted, she went on, "It was a thing I had to work through. It wasn't something I could felt I could work with you on. I know differently _now_ though."

"We are horribly stubborn."

"Definitely."

"One thing that stuck out in my mind when I heard you got hurt was regret," Don confessed contemplatively. When Savannah tilted her head, puzzled, he explained, "I regretted I didn't listen to your instincts earlier. I felt guilty that I just threw it aside and didn't even investigate. I felt like this was partly my fault."

"It's not," she responded firmly. "A lot of the blame is with me for not just admitting I felt the way I did."

"I shut you down. I didn't really make any time to really hear your concerns and be open enough so you would eventually talk. I just expected it," countered Don in a voice tinged with self loathing for it.

"Even if you did expect it, I didn't want to make things difficult between you and a new co-worker."

"Savannah, Kirsti irritated the hell out of me a lot of times. I only tolerated her because she managed to pull in some decent work. I worked with her to try and make her better so I wouldn't have to baby her. I would have dropped her faster than a scalding pot if I had known how you felt," Don replied intently. "And for another thing, I didn't actually notice she had a crush on me. I just saw her flirting with everyone and thought I was no different. I didn't notice anything she did and the man-eater vibe just never occurred to me."

Leaning back in her chair, rubbing her eyes tiredly, Anna mumbled, "That's okay. I mean, we can't notice everything all the time. I'm just glad it's over. She's behind bars and maybe we can pick up the pieces."

"Of course we will!" Don said firmly, determination glinting in his eyes.

Smiling at him weakly, Savannah said, "She's out of sight, out of mind, but I've still got the problem of my robber."

The detective sat up straighter at the reminder some other demon was plaguing his girlfriend's life and he offered, "I can help out with that. I'm sure Adam will be happy to look through your security tapes to find out which of your girls is taking the money and then I'll be all too happy to put the cuffs on them. Heck, I'll even let you do it yourself."

"That's sweet of you, sugar, it really is," the cafe owner replied quietly, but her resolve was clear. "But I can't let you do this. Let my pride take over on this. I feel like I _need_ to figure this out on my own. I need to know why the person has to betray my trust in them, I need to know why they couldn't just fess up and tell me. It's a blow not just against me, but against the place that has given me a fresh start and given me some of the most precious things in my life right now."

Mulling it over in his head, Don had to admit that he could respect that wish. "Fine. But only for the next month. After that if more money has been taken and you haven't caught them, then I'll get Adam to have a play around with your evidence. Sound fair?"

"Sounds fair. I like negotiating," she said nonchalantly.

"Much better than the arguing," the blue eyed man agreed.

A little smile on her face, Savannah stood and relocated herself to Don's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You know what else I like better than arguing?"

"I'm going to guess snuggling."

"Give the man a prize," she teased, before hugging him tight and whispering in a choked up voice, "I missed you so much. I felt so wrong after turning you away…it ate me up inside."

"When I heard you got hurt, it was eating _me_ that we weren't on the best terms. What if something worse had happened?" he asked concernedly. He squeezed her tighter, feeling at home with her warm, supple body secure against his. Don breathed in the smell of her and felt a balm to the ache in his heart. "Do you feel like this? So…relieved?"

Savannah knew what he meant. Being in her lover's arms felt like a nice warm blanket after standing out in the middle of the street being buffeted by howling wind and icy rain. She felt warmed from head to toe and much more relaxed than recent times had allowed. "Yeah. I'm relieved to be back here with you," she confessed, tentatively leaning in until their lips touched, seeking for the comfort she finally allowed herself to receive. The kiss was slow, meaningful, and deep.

When they separated, Savannah murmured, "I love you. Always."

Smiling, Don replied affectionately, "Ditto. Love you too. I love you with all the flaws, Savannah. Don't you ever forget that."

"Dear Lord, you're going to make me cry because you're so charming after the crap I've put you through lately," she whispered, smiling in spite of the brining tears. She kissed him again, pouring all of her emotion into it in sweet reply.

Just like that, things were mostly back to normal, only they were a little more appreciative of the time they had.

* * *

**A/N: Oh my gosh, the emotional talks are so hard. Why does my muse do this to me? Ah well, learning curve. Review if you liked what they talked about and how it ended. Also MERRY CHRISTMAS as this will be my last update for about 5 days due to the festivities. **


	18. Moment of Peace

**A/N: Hey everybody! Did you have a good holiday? I did. Surprisingly so in fact. Now I'm back with another chapter of FOW. I'm glad the last chapter worked out and left you all on a good note before Christmas. Thank you so much to those who alert and favourite this fic. To SomebodyWhoCares, Kayla, Smuffly, JJ and Forest Angel, thanks for the reviews, they were great. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Minor swearing, if any.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 18 – Moment of Peace**

* * *

_Keep it together in the family  
They're a reminder of your history  
Brothers and sisters they hold the key  
To your heart and your soul  
Don't forget that your family is gold_

**Madonna – Keep It Together**

* * *

"It's kind of shame they took those stitches out. I could have kept calling you Stitch."

"If you had called me Stitch one more time I would have started to call you Lilo," bantered Savannah with a grin.

"Huh?"

"It's a kids Disney reference, Don."

Don shook his head amusedly and placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the doctor's office. It was two days after their much needed talk and Savannah's head wound had healed up nicely. They hadn't heard anything else about what was happening, and when Don had gone in to work yesterday he had remained blissfully ignorant to the whispers about what had happened. Everyone knew that Kirsti Waverly had been arrested but the details were hazy because the official report was kept tightly under wraps. Some said it was for public indecency and she had been fired because of that and arrested for humiliation. Some rumoured that she had been doing drugs. And some managed to guess correctly that it had something to do with the attack on Savannah.

Mac was the only one – apart from Flack and Anna – who knew the full facts of it all. He and the Chief of Police had agreed to keep it as discreet as possible and Waverly had been sworn to silence in her holding cell or else she would be given a harsher penalty.

Savannah had decided to forget about anything and everything to do with the troublemaking redhead until the time was needed. If kissing and making up with Don had taught her anything, it was that it was pointless to worry more about it. Kirsti had been given her just desserts and she should focus on her relationship rather than the waste of space.

"We're swinging past the cafe aren't we?" clarified Flack as they went towards the car park.

"Course we are. How else are we going to fill the picnic basket?" replied Savannah, sliding into the seat of the car.

"I'm convinced you can whip up something out of thin air by now," he said with a smirk.

"Sugar, I'm good, but not that good," she chuckled, smirking back at him.

It felt good to joke like this with the blue eyed detective again. Savannah had regretted that she had let everything let to her and in the process she had kept the joy of being with Don out of her life at the same time. She had let her preconceived notions of being independent morph into old-fashioned arrogance that she could get by without anyone to help her. How wrong she had been. Feeling like she was in a good place right now (or at least getting there), the cafe owner knew that moments like these were ones to keep her afloat when old doubts threatened to drag her down once more.

Arriving at the cafe a little while later, Savannah was instantly greeted by Jacks, who hugged her tight.

Her cousin had been a bit more touchy feely over the past few days and Anna only knew it was because she had been so fretful for her. She hadn't meant to worry anyone – honestly – but as with the kidnapping it only highlighted just how many people Savannah mattered to.

"You guys going out to Central Park?" asked the shorter woman.

"Yes. We're just going to relax the whole day," affirmed Savannah, knowing that Jacks wouldn't want to hear of anything more or less.

"Scouts honour," promised Flack, doing the sign with mock seriousness, getting both women to grin at him.

"Okay. Your cafe is in my good hands Anna," assured Jacks, squeezing her again before helping her pack the supplies while Don watched on with wide, pleased eyes.

A few pieces of strawberry tart and banana bread were put in the picnic basket alongside pastrami and pickle sandwiches, schnitzel, a tub of steamed broccoli and asparagus, and mashed potatoes. A bag of mixed fruit completed the feast as Savannah tucked the napkins and cutlery on top.

"I didn't realise we were out to feed all of Central Park," quipped the tall man.

Snorting amusedly, Savannah countered, "Don, we're going to be there most of the day. I know you'll complain if you don't have enough to fill that bottomless pit of yours. Besides, I'd rather you eat _my_ food than any of the stuff from the vendors in there. At least I know my food is sanitary." She chuckled at his answering grimace at the reminder of the case where he had gone behind the scenes with cart vendors. "I think Sam might come say hello later as well – she mentioned wanting to see us in her break. So it's not just for us."

"As long as she doesn't take the banana bread, she's welcome," replied Don with a quick grin.

Soon enough, the couple were on their way.

They had agreed to just take a day off and do as little as possible. Just to wind down before life threw another curveball at them whenever it came. It was meant to be a day of laziness. It was the perfect day for it too, with the sun shining down, few clouds in the sky, and the humidity was low. Dressed in jeans and casual t-shirts, they looked like any other normal couple out for a day in the park.

Don and Savannah walked hand in hand towards the western area of the park, going to a well shaded grassy area where not many people hung around. It was there they set up the blanket and laid down. Savannah was on her back with a pillow supporting her head, reading poetry while Don settled his head on his favourite place – the cushiony surface of her lower abdomen as he thumbed through the latest 'Wheels' magazine. They didn't talk much, preferring to let their contact and comfortable silence fill their communication quota. It was as if talking was too intense for this lazy day.

When he finished with the magazine, the off duty detective just tilted his head towards the sky, his sunglasses enabling him to gaze upwards through the shade cover of the trees and not be irritated by the small shafts of sunlight making their way down.

He smiled, simply glad.

Glad encapsulated a lot of things. He was grateful for today. Glad that it had happened. Glad that Savannah and he were back on track and he was glad she seemed to slide smoothly back into her usual persona. The night after their massive talk, Don had been anticipating the need to allow a little more space just in case. He needn't have worried. As if to compensate for the time apart, Anna had been affectionate and apologetic. He was glad they had talked about her issues. It meant they the balance was right now – they were sharing the burdens as couples did.

The light touch of fingernails stroking through his hair and across his scalp was a pleasant sensation that made his nerves stand on end. He leaned into it, making a noise of contentment as Savannah increased the pressure and massaged in little circles.

"I swear you were a cat in a previous life," she remarked casually.

"What, because I like getting my head scratched? Nah. It's just nice," he replied.

Smiling, Savannah continued as he closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and let the sensations wash over him.

After what seemed an age later, she stopped and asked, "Is that your stomach I'm hearing?"

"Huh? Oh," mumbled Don, chuckling upon realising that the little growling sounds had been him, not some noise coming from elsewhere in the park. "Yeah, it's me. I'm hungry. I was daydreaming about food just then."

The bright peals of her laughter rang through the area and Savannah said, "Of course you were! What else could you daydream about?"

"Funny you should ask that. There was this one time that involved you and me and-"

"Hold that thought, although I imagine it involved us horizontal. We're meant to be relaxing," she reminded the incorrigible man laughingly. "That's not exactly a relaxing thing."

"It can be," drawled Don, taking his glasses off and flashing her the bedroom eyes and then sliding them back on again.

"Tempting. As I said, hold that thought. The timing's not right because I have that pesky monthly visitor," Savannah alluded nonchalantly.

"Oh. Well, that changes things."

Savannah smirked. "Yes, it does. Anyway," she murmured, sitting up and reaching for the picnic basket, "what are you hungry for?"

"I think I saw you tucking a few pastrami rolls in there earlier," mentioned Don hopefully. When the sandwich was placed in his hand he unwrapped it eagerly. "Oh yum, this stuff…get in my belly."

Savannah laughed at him again and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Your reactions to food never cease to amaze me."

Flack just took a bite and grinned at her before laying back down. Savannah eschewed the sandwiches to go for her favourite vegetable. The steamed broccoli. She rolled over onto her stomach so she could continue reading and still be able to eat without choking. A few minutes later, curious, her beau asked, "What are you reading?"

"An Oscar Wilde collection," she replied.

"Can you read some to me?" Don requested softly. He didn't like reading poetry, but he had heard Anna read it aloud before. It sounded so much more interesting when she read it.

Then again, he was biased.

"Okay, this is from a poem called _Fantaisies Decoratives _, part one entitled _Le Panneau_," Savannah informed him before rehearsing in a lilting, melodic tone, a part of the poem.

"_The white leaves float upon the air,_

_The red leaves flutter idly down,_

_Some fall upon her yellow gown,_

_And some upon her raven hair._

_She takes an amber lute and sings,_

_And as she sings a silver crane_

_Begins his scarlet neck to strain,_

_And flap his burnished metal wings."_

A moment of silence lapsed after the mythical sounding verse before Don commented, "Wow. You manage to make that stuff sound sexy. Ms. Tanner in middle school managed to sound only marginally better than nails on a chalk board whenever she read out poetry."

Giggling, the brunette replied, "I think it's just because of the description. That, and it's different language. Some languages just _sound_ nice – Italian and Spanish come to mind. Poetry as a language can sound beautiful even when it's about sorrow or anger. Say something in Irish. It can be anything, and it'll sound cool or nice to me."

Don hummed and then said, "Tá do chuid gruaige deas lá atá inniu ann."

"See? That sounded so cool. For all I know, you said that the drains in New York are disgusting," Savannah pointed out.

"I didn't say that. I said your hair looks nice today," Don replied and then he smiled. "Here, try this one. Is breá liom tú."

"What did you say this time?"

"I said 'I love you,'" he murmured softly, reaching out and twirling a curl around his finger as she took his sunglasses off to see his eyes. Her smile was brilliant and it made Don's heart skip a beat at the beautiful sight. "I'm happy you're smiling again."

"I think my face needed to remember to smile, I felt like I haven't done it in ages. It's like I don't smile for one day and my muscles forget how to," Savannah said, stroking down the side of his face gently. "I'm happy you're smiling too. I missed that as well. I missed a lot of things. Life got crazy, didn't it?"

"A little bit," conceded the blue eyed man.

"It makes me wonder. What will happen in the future? What will happen tomorrow? Will I get mad at you for something, will I laugh so hard that I feel my ribs are going to crack? And we don't know. There's never a certainty. And there's an odd beauty in that," she wondered aloud, closing the poetry book and leaning her head on Don's outstretched arm, shutting her eyes.

"Poetry makes you philosophical," Don remarked.

She chuckled as he smirked. "It does."

"For me, I feel I can finally relax a little."

"We needed this," Savannah whispered, leaning down to kiss him softly, enjoying the simple pleasure of her lips on his. His hand threaded through her hair in a familiar gesture and he returned the affection.

Their brief make out session was interrupted by Don's stomach growling again.

She pulled back, raising an eyebrow and smirking. "You didn't have anything for breakfast did you? That's why you're so hungry."

"Guilty," he grinned back.

Savannah rummaged around in the picnic basket for the mashed potatoes and the schnitzel. She lay them out between them and said, "It's almost noon anyway. Go for your life."

"I'm officially making your code name Edesia," Flack teased lightly.

"Goddess of the feast. Hey, I remember that when we first met you called me that," the brunette reminisced happily. As he ate, she lightly picked at the food, happy to go back to her poetry. The couple spent the rest of the day like that, picking at their stocks of food and reading and chatting about the things that popped into their heads. Around four in the afternoon the figure of Samantha made their way towards them like Savannah had foretold, lugging something big and rectangular and covered in a black sheet behind her.

"Hey Sam!" waved the curly haired woman as she approached.

"Hey guys. Nice to see you in a more picturesque setting than a hospital," Sam replied with a small smile.

Don sat up, spotting the object easily and raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "Going to fly a kite or something?" he asked.

"No. Actually…you know how Savannah was hanging out with me lately? It has to do with that," Sam said as she joined them on the blanket, placing the gift next to her and disregarding it for the moment to poke at the picnic basket. "Did you save me some of that strawberry tart you've been talking up?"

"Of course I did!" Savannah exclaimed, as if the notion she wouldn't was ridiculous. She retrieved it and gave it to Sam before saying softly, "I'll leave you guys alone for a moment. Be back soon." Before either Flack could protest, she stood and wandered over to a path letting her hand trail along the tree trunks as she walked. When she was out of sight, Don looked to his sister, who looked a bit nervous. His eyes softened and he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"So this thing is for me?" he questioned, gesturing to the black covered object.

"You know I only gave you a block of chocolate for your birthday in January," Sam said levelly.

"Yeah. And? It was a pretty good block of chocolate," Don replied with a smirk.

"That isn't actually what I got you. I actually got you a ticket to go on one of those jet boat tours on the East River," Sam informed him, taking a quick bite of her tart to keep her cool – because no matter how much Anna had assured her that her brother was going to like it, Sam knew that she and Don had been estranged and only recently they had found their connection as siblings again. He might be indifferent to it or think it was too kitschy. "I lost the ticket the day before your birthday. So I had to think of something new and I finally did something I've been wanting to do for a while."

"A really late birthday present," chuckled Don. "Wow. You've actually made something?"

"Well, yeah. You're my brother, Don. The last time I made you something was in the 7th grade where I made you that silly coloured macaroni necklace and you wore it around the house for a week because I threatened to cry if you didn't." They both grinned at the memory. "I think it's about time I did something sentimental anyway," explained the younger Flack sincerely, "you're my brother and I don't think I've ever told you how much I appreciate you."

"You've never said it, but I know. That's what family is for," Don reassured. He felt like he did as a kid on Christmas Day. Suddenly excited about the unknown gift he was about to receive, regardless of what it was. Because Sam had gone out of her way to make something.

"Savannah helped me with it. The day Waverly went after her was the day we finished it." Sam then put down her tasty snack and reached for the covered canvas, setting it upright. She waited until Don had his full attention fixed on it before slowly sliding the sheet off it, watching his face intently for his reaction as she did so.

She needn't have worried.

An expression of complete awe and wonder and joy suffused his face as he took in all the details. He was stunned by the canvas and the effort that had gone into it – there was something humbling about seeing the physical demonstration of the fact Sam had appreciated him enough to do this. Even after all the push and pull, the struggles as siblings, and the stubbornness issues, this came out of it. Something that was really special. He couldn't speak, moving closer to the canvas and tracing his fingers over the pictures and mementos she had collected.

Finally, he managed to say, "Wow. Just…Sam, this is really, really cool."

A bright smile lit up her face. "You like it?"

"You kiddin'? I love it!" he replied enthusiastically. "You drew this?" he asked, pointing to the picture of him in the centre.

Sam nodded and answered, "Your eyes were easy – they were like mine – but your smile was hard. First attempt I gave you too many teeth accidentally. But it's so worth it." She then blew out a breath and chuckled as Don kept looking at the collated picture, his fingers exploring it as his eyes did the same, absorbing each memory painted, stitched, or glued to it. It reminded her of the first time Don had shown her his first car, running his fingers over the bodywork before taking her for a spin around the block. Pure fascination. "I was so hesitant about giving it to you, but Savannah encouraged me."

Finding the picture of Jess hidden in the collection of memories, Don made a noise of knowing. "I'm sure she did. She added this picture in didn't she?"

"She insisted."

Don focussed on the corner where pictures of he and Savannah were grouped together. Some of them he didn't even know had been taken. There was one that had been taken last July at Hawkes's rooftop party. He had been handing her a flute with punch and the photographer had taken the shot just at the moment where they were smiling at each other and their fingers had brushed as he had handed her the glass. Another was one where he was at his desk in the precinct and Anna was perched on the edge, her hair a raven curtain from where she was leaning in to whatever thing he was saying. It looked like he was about to leave for the day. Another one he hadn't realised had been taken was one night at a seafood restaurant they had gone to with his parents and they were sitting on a pier side by side, hands interlaced. Simple moments captured when unaware. There were other ones where they had purposefully posed for the picture as well.

"It's awesome. I'm hanging it up as soon as I clear the space for it," he enthused, the smile on his face broadening as he checked every photo on the art all over again. He then murmured, "Come here, you."

Sam moved forward to be gathered in her brother's arms and embraced him warmly. "I figured you guys needed something positive to top off a good day after the crap recently."

"It helps," Don replied, pulling back and messing her hair despite her protest. "You're the best little sister."

"You say that now," joked Sam.

"Even so, I really, really do appreciate it," he said gently.

Sam just shrugged. "You're welcome Don."

He rose, looking off down the path Savannah had gone. "I'm gonna go and get her and then we'll probably leave after that – she has to go count the takings of the cafe."

"I'll wait around. I need to say goodbye to Savannah."

Don headed down the path and wondered how far she could have gotten in half an hour. Savannah could be fast when she wanted to but he theorised that since the scenery attracted her so much, she wouldn't have gone as far as usual. Before long, he found her, sitting on a rock overlooking a pond where a duck was leading her ducklings around. He snickered to himself. In a city that was mainly concrete and glass, only Savannah would be able to look like she was surrounded by nature all the time. She was humming a tune of some kind and looking dreamily out over the pond.

"I'm pretty sure those ducks aren't going to hum back," Don remarked teasingly.

"I won't know until I try," Savannah played along, standing and turning with a beatific smile. "Did you enjoy your belated birthday present?"

"Don't admit this to Sam, but I think I was about ready to tear up," confessed the blue eyed man with a lopsided smile of bashfulness.

"Aw, that's adorable," giggled the brunette, coming over to grasp his hand. "I'm so happy you liked it. When we were making it, she was always so concerned with getting it 'just right' for you. She wanted so badly not to disappoint you because Sam's realised you've been disappointed in her before."

As they headed back to their picnic area, Don replied, "I can see why she'd think like that. But you guys did great. Thanks for helping her." He squeezed her hand, bringing it up to lay a quick gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles. When they arrived back at their little shelter of peace, Sam regrettably told them but she had to leave but she promised to see them soon. With another round of hugs, they went their separate ways. Sam to her apartment and Savannah and Don to the Comfort Cafe.

By the time they arrived, Jacks was the only one left. She greeted them with a grin and said, "It was a busy one."

"Oooh, goody," said Savannah excitedly, going around the counter and beginning to count the til. Don leaned against the customer side of the counter, watching her facial expressions intently. Ever since the attack on her, no money had been taken from the register but his instincts as a detective knew that it wouldn't last long. People who had developed a habit of stealing would do it again if they felt the need. Savannah was letting him in on the problems so he wasn't going to miss his chance to support her now.

Jacks was polishing cutlery and also seemed to be waiting with baited breath as the taller woman neared the end of her routine.

And then came the final check.

Some of the joy flew away like escaped birds when Savannah compared her counted total to the til receipt.

"$100 under," she announced dully to the two of them.

Jacks frowned, piping up, "I was at the counter here for most of the day except for the lunch rush. The girls took turns at serving then, so that's when it must have happened."

"I know it's not your fault Jacks. It's probably because you were here that they didn't take any more than that," Savannah murmured supportively to her cousin. "I know you try your best."

Flack looked unimpressed. "I seriously don't get why they're doing this to you. Do you guys have any clue as to who it might be?"

The cafe owner shook her head in a negative, but Jacks seemed to be putting pieces of an imaginary jigsaw puzzle in her head. "Actually," she mentioned hesitantly, "We may be able to narrow it down from four to three. Claudette didn't work today – she wasn't rostered on."

Don and Anna looked at each other before their heads swivelled to Jacks. "Great," they chorused. "Although that doesn't eliminate her from stealing from the cafe on earlier occasions," the detective continued.

"It means I don't have to suspect her as heavily as the others," Savannah added, feeling hope and lightness. It was a relief on her conscience to not have the finger of accusation ready to point at the youngest member of her team. She hadn't wanted to believe that the diligent, naive Claudette had been capable of such deceit. "It means that if this month runs out and we turn the evidence over to the Crime Lab, there's less to work through."

"Three more weeks. I hope they reveal themselves before then," Don said lowly.

"My hope is eternal," Savannah said firmly.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed these two finding their emotional balance with each other again. As for the robber mystery, we have one contestant out of the running. Who will it be? Ah, not even my muse has fully decided at this moment XD! Reviews are always lovely and appreciated. And it's always nice to get them from those I've never heard from before. Those surprise me but it's a nice surprise. **


	19. Magic, Baby

**A/N: Who's ready for something a little funnier and sexier? I am! I needed something to get me out of the funk I'm in and also to refresh the muse before next chapter (that right there is a hint). Thank you to: JJ, Forest Angel, Smuffly, Leslie Emm, CSINYNut, Kayla and SomebodyWhoCares for the reviews on the last chapters. This is for you all for the new year…Happy New Year in advance!**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing,** **implied sex and stripping, sex objects/toys mentioned. You should not drink any beverage while reading this chapter due to slight ridiculousness.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates (AND I don't own Magic Mike either). I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 19 – Magic Baby**

* * *

_All I wanna do is love your body  
Oooooh ooooh oooooh oooooooh  
Tonight's your lucky night, I know you want it  
Oooooh ooooh oooooh oooooooh_

**Christina Aguilera – Your Body**

* * *

"Only you could successfully kidnap me from the clutches of Don, Jo."

"Hey, how long has it been since you've seen the light of day? A week?"

"I did go on that picnic a week ago," pointed out Savannah.

"Since then you've either been at home or the cafe. You need to go out," Jo rebuked in a kind, motherly way.

"Who has had time to go out with me? Don's been busy with work, Jacks is making sure that I'm not straining myself and not taking a day off, you guys have your lives and I've been happy to just chill out at home. I read. I surf the internet. I watch Nigella Lawson cooking shows," Savannah rattled off in her defence. "I've been doing what everyone has been wanting me to do. Relax."

"Yeah, but when was the last time you had real girl time?" Jo asked shrewdly.

Rolling her eyes – knowing Jo had a point – Savannah replied, "Stella's going away party. I think I had one pina colada too many. I tried dancing on her table and fell off it and onto her couch."

Jo laughed at the mental image. "Smooth, Anna."

"So is that the purpose of today? Having girl time," the younger woman inquired as Jo drove to some location she hadn't felt like revealing.

"That, and making you laugh so hard you want to cry with someone who's not that hunk of a man you have. So we're going to be a little ridiculous. We're going to not be embarrassed by anything we do," she said firmly. She gave a pointed look to her second cousin and went on, "You have to promise you can't refuse anything we do today. You wouldn't want to ruin the awesome plans I made."

Smiling, appreciative that Jo had organised something for them to do, Savannah nodded. "I promise. I wouldn't want to cross an ex-FBI agent after all."

"Good. That means I won't have to worry about dragging you everywhere kicking and screaming," teased Jo.

A few minutes later Jo pulled up in front of a nondescript building in Brooklyn, encouraging Anna to get out. The green-grey eyes caught a sign, not plain but not flashy either, proclaiming: '_Madame Flossy's Adult Store.'_ Looking at her friend with a raised eyebrow, she said flatly, "You think I need a trip to one of these stores?"

"Yes and no," answered Jo knowingly. "No because, well, you have a perfectly good man. Yes because you can always get something to add a little interesting twist to things. Yes because half the fun is going in there and laughing at the gadgets they have in there." She went around, tugging playfully at Anna's bag strap and reminded, "No hesitation. We're here to have _fun_."

"Okay, okay, jeez, you nag," the curly brunette griped, poking her tongue out in rebellion.

"Real mature."

"Thanks," replied Savannah as they made their way inside.

The initial appearance was like the sign outside. Simple. Black walls with a gothic silver pattern and a little desk where a portly woman with bright pink hair sat reading an erotica collection and chewing on a lollipop absentmindedly. As they approached, she looked up and smiled. "You guys can go on through," she instructed, pointing to the arched, open doorway to the left. Thanking her, the two women went on through. While Jo walked calmly on, Savannah slowed to halt to take it all in. She looked around, blushing when she caught sight of what was on the ceiling. On the ceiling was a picture that stretched across the entire surface of a man and woman intertwined sensually. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing.

It was a high-ceilinged room, almost like being in a sophisticated warehouse, The walls were robed in the sensual colours of black, silver, crimson, and gold as a backdrop to the lurid colours here and there, the toys and costumes everywhere. Smooth jazz echoed through the room and Savannah felt her blush intensify as she fixated on a shelf of vibrators directly in her line of sight. She had been to an adult toy shop before but never one as big as this or as…wide in their range of objects.

"Aw, c'mon you're not a prude," Jo teased from in front of her.

"No, not really, but this is, ah, how do I put it? Unexpected," Savannah countered shaking off her surprise and catching up with the CSI. "Besides, not like I go to these all the time."

Jo just shrugged and led her on through the aisles. "Just have a browse. You might find something you like. You and Don would have to try something that's not vanilla every now and then."

Fondly remembering the first chocolate mousse session (and the two sessions that had followed – the second time had involved caramel sauce as well), Savannah giggled. "Oh, we have."

"Like what?"

"Handcuffs. In front of a roaring fire. Chocolate. Quickie against his apartment door where anyone walking past could hear the rhythmic thumping on the door," Savannah listed off smugly, watching as Jo paused in shock that she had actually revealed something about her private life. "We've never really used toys. I think my little egg vibe has been in its box ever since I met Don, actually."

"Then it's high time we got you something," Jo concluded firmly, grabbing her hand and directing her to the back of the store. "You know, there's stuff here for guys too. Ever seen a cock ring?" Unashamedly, she picked up a package, proudly showing it off to Savannah, whose blush returned upon seeing it.

"The purpose of that is?" asked the younger woman haltingly, having a vague idea.

"Slows his orgasm. That way if you're having a bit of trouble hitting the big O you guys can pace yourselves," informed Jo with a wicked smirk, enjoying the cafe owner's slight discomfort. She didn't do this to be mean, she did this to show her private friend and cousin that having these girly perv talks were normal and that talking about sex was normal. "This one is a plain one. Some have little ridges on them for different textures, and some of them even vibrate." She pointed out the specific style and added, "That can be a kinky tool if you just watch while it vibes on him. Can drive some crazy."

"You spend too much time on the internet reading about this stuff," Savannah said, poking fun at Jo's broad knowledge. She looked down the shelf and saw the Fleshlights, sniggering at the mental image of Don's face if she got him one of those. It would be hilarious.

"Only when I'm bored and lonely. My hormones have been horrible lately," explained Jo, grinning. "I'm not complaining."

They giggled over the penis extenders further down the aisle and then they turned a corner, seeing the strap-ons.

"Want one?" Jo asked.

Giving her an odd look, Savannah said, "Uhm, I'm pretty sure I don't need one."

"Some guys like pegging."

"What the heck is _pegging?_ It sounds like something that my boyfriend, who is pretty straight laced mind you, will avoid like the plague," Savannah pointed out.

"Okay, pegging is a fetish where the woman in the relationship wears the strap-on and…well, does the guy," Jo explained with relish, jokingly getting one of the strap-ons and waving it around.

Savannah made a face of disgust. "Gross!"

"I only mention it because we had a case come in a few days ago where the woman we found dead was wearing a strap on and we found male DNA on it. Who knew that Mac actually knew what pegging was?" Jo replied laughingly, laughing harder at the other woman's stunned expression.

"Excuse me while I bleach my brain," deadpanned the younger woman, shaking her head to clear it before walking on. She paused as she glimpsed some interestingly shaped silicone in a packet. She got a closer look and saw they were toys that slipped over one's fingers and were specially textured as to bring pleasure when inserted in the more sensitive places. Tilting her head to the side, she wondered what it would feel like. Making a mental note to come back later, she moved on. There were vibrators of all kinds and colours and textures, over a hundred, ranging from the little egg vibes to the disproportionately huge gag gifts that made both women stare in awe at the proportions.

"If anyone can take that, that's talent," Jo remarked.

"Uh-huh."

They moved past the standard replicas of the male phallus pretty quickly, only to pause and laugh at a few that looked weird. One was long, bendy, and looked like a candy cane with the red and white stripes. Savannah almost was on the floor laughing when Jo picked up one that was plastic and had a pattern of happy sunflowers on it. When Savannah pointed to a plain black one, she remarked with mock-seriousness, "I guess we know where the PD gets their batons from."

Jo almost lost it and sniggered madly. "And you say I'm the one with the dirty mind."

"Weren't you encouraging me two seconds ago?"

"Guilty."

They moved to the massage oils and lube, where Savannah gave into the impulse and grabbed some massage oil that looked very slick on the skin. When Jo gave her a mysterious smirk, she simply replied, "I do happen to give non-sexual massages you know."

"Sure, sure, justify all you like," the older woman drawled, grabbing some warming lube for herself. "Do we need to make a visit to the condom section as well?"

"No. I've been on the pill since after the kidnapping."

Jo spotted something else and immediately raced over to it excitedly. "Anna! Come here, you are so buying this!" she cried, enthusiasm clear in her voice.

"As long as it's not a strap on," murmured Savannah to herself. When she went over to the section Jo had darted off to, she peered at the box she had in her hands. "Please don't say it's a whip. I don't think I could take myself seriously wielding one of those."

"No, silly, it's edible lingerie," announced the CSI, turning the box and showing her the advertising. "It's not any of that low quality stuff made of musk lollies. This is the quality for heavy duty seduction. It actually stays on your skin and sticks like latex and tastes like either chocolate or strawberry depending on which one you get. Now this I think could appeal to a certain detective."

Taking the packet to inspect it, she murmured, "You are diabolical." A slow smile spread across her face as she read about the contents. "Hmmm…" she hummed in thought.

"Get it. I dare you."

"We aren't 12, Jo," scolded Savannah, but her grin spoiled most of the effect. She tucked the box under her arm with a bashful grin and followed Jo onto the costume and intimates section. Jo knew that any more jokes about it would make her younger friend change her mind about it. Savannah was great, but she needed to be a touch more explorative with her personal life in Jo's opinion. She held up a bustier on herself and asked Anna, "What do you think?"

Giggling, the cafe owner said, "As much as fluoro is the in colour right now, I think you'll look like you're trying to channel Nicki Minaj in that get up."

As Jo rifled through the outfits, she asked, "What have you ever worn for Don?"

"No way Hosea, you're going to answer that one before I do. What outfits have you ever dressed up in for a guy before?" Savannah bantered back, determined to turn the tables on the older woman.

Jo raked her brain. "Ah, let me think. I did the Catholic schoolgirl, naughty nurse, dominatrix, bad teacher, French maid, and once I even dressed up as Poison Ivy. I was dating a guy who just loved her as his favourite comic book character so I indulged him. I think the time putting on the outfit took longer than the actual time we spent in bed," she described, ticking each one off on her fingers and entertaining Savannah with the list. "Oh, and the playboy bunny outfit. That one was a hit."

"I wonder if everyone at the lab knows about your kinky side," mused Savannah.

"I think Lindsay's guessed but the guys? Clueless," replied Jo with a smirk.

Pulling a face at a discounted x-rated elf costume, Savannah sighed and said, "If you really must know: French maid, nothing but an apron, and cowgirl."

"Cowgirl?"

"I kid you not, I managed to find this most revealing cowgirl costume ever. With a hat and everything. I had no idea he was even into that until he mentioned it," revealed the curly brunette, lost in the memories of that crazy time. It was a really fun night at her apartment when it had happened.

"Interesting. You know what you need?"

"Apart from a friend who is determined to spend all my money in a sex shop for me?"

With a cheeky smile, Jo reached behind the sales rack and dragged out a leather corset with partially hidden clips for garters. With a surprised intake of breath, Savannah reached out, making contact with the leather. It was high quality, soft, smooth, and sensual to touch. She took it from the other's hands and gripped it, taking it in. It would definitely fit her and look fantastic – especially with that edible underwear she was thinking of getting. It would frame her best assets and she knew that it would make Don stop and stare. It was sexy without being overly tarty with the classic matte of the leather. She ran her fingers over the inner lining and a cheeky idea formed in her mind.

Hell, she needed her Don. This would definitely be a kick-start to that.

"I'm going to go and try it on," decided Savannah.

"You go girl!" cheered Jo.

* * *

Half an hour later (with the oils, candy lingerie and corset tucked in the boot of Jo's car), the two women, laughing, headed off to the nearest cinema. As they walked in, heading for the ticket counter, Jo pointed to a movie poster of five half naked men emblazoned across it. "That's the movie we're going to go see. Magic Mike."

"What's it about?"

"Male strippers," the older woman grinned, waggling her eyebrows.

Savannah hummed contemplatively as she looked at the hunky actors. "We better get extra large frozen cokes to cool us down then," she said.

They exchanged matching cheeky grins and got their tickets, popcorn and mentioned extra large beverages before heading into the theatre. They joined a stream of giggling women obviously heading in for the same reason they were. To have a little fun and to get some eye candy into their lives accompanied by their friends. As they situated themselves into good seats in the middle of the cinema, Savannah murmured to Jo, "Thanks for this. I think I needed to do something ridiculous today to get me out of my little rut."

"No problem. I think if I hadn't been a CSI I would have been a sex therapist or counsellor," the older woman joked with a wink.

They quietened as the movie began.

But not for long.

The cheers began immediately as soon as Matthew McCounaughey came on screen in his risqué cowboy outfit.

They intensified – Jo and Savannah caught up in the spirit of women fun included – as the next shot of Channing Tatum getting up from the bed buck naked and proudly displaying rounded buttocks flashed up on the screen. Savannah could only watch in awe as the movie continued to play towards the first dance and stripping scene.

When the five men began to dance to 'Raining Men,' Savannah's eyes widened at the athletic bodies gyrating to the beat, rolling their hips, ripping their costumes off in perfect timing (damn that Magic Mike could dance!) and showing off their sculpted chests. The wealth of gorgeous flesh sent her hormones spinning, turned on for what felt the first time in weeks. Her mouth was open and she felt her breathing quicken as the film went into a montage of the strippers doing their solo acts, dancing like they were making love to the air, performing with all the gusto of Don eating a chocolate cake. Speaking of Don...her mind deviated from the movie slightly and copied the image of a nearly naked Irish detective dancing just like _that_, on the floor, twisting his hips to and fro in a mock enactment of sex while his blue eyes blazed into her soul. Savannah knew he couldn't dance like that, but the image made her clench her thighs and her blood heat.

She hid it well enough to laugh and cheer along with the multitude of other women in the cinema, Jo whispering naughty side comments every now and then to make tears of laughter come to her eyes. Such as: "Hey, Anna, can you imagine Sheldon and Danny's faces if Lindsay and Camille dragged them into this?" and "Oooh, imagine Sid doing that hot doctor strip dance Ken is doing."

In the end, the film did take a darker, reality fuelled turn but it was no less entertaining with Jo and Savannah giggling madly.

When it finished, Savannah bit her lip as she felt the familiar coil of need in her stomach after the buffet of eye candy she had just been served. All she wanted to do is use those new purchases straight away...

As Jo chatted excitedly about how she was going to go see the movie again, the cafe owner discreetly took her phone out and sent out a text.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Sugar...how long until you get off shift?

* * *

The reply was immediate.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

About two hours, depending on the leads. Why?

* * *

With a slow, sensual smirk that went unseen by her friend, Savannah replied – feeling so mischievous and sexy as she did so – and hoped he wouldn't go into a cardiac arrest.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah._

But baby, I'm so horny right now. Jo just took me to see Magic Mike. I need you.

* * *

Savannah tucked her phone away after that, turning to Jo – who was still crowing about how sexy Joe Mangianello was – and asking, "Hey, could you drop me off to Don's apartment? I'm just going to leave the new stuff there as a tease, you know."

Jo threw her a sceptical look and said, "Liar."

"I mean it! I'm not going to stay there," she bluffed, keeping her most innocent face on. Jo didn't look entirely convinced but agreed anyway. They continued to gossip about their favourite parts of the movie and the characters as they travelled to the apartment building. As Savannah hopped out, Jo called her back for a moment.

"Anna, don't forget. Let it all go," winked Jo.

Rolling her eyes, Savannah repeated, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure. Which is why you moaned in the middle of that dance Channing Tatum did where he spun around a gazillion times. Have fun! Don't tire him out too much!" she teased, driving away as Savannah flushed deeply – she guessed she hadn't been as blasé as she would have liked. Oh well, who cares, it's not like Jo would announce it over Facebook like an immature 15 year old would. That she had confidence in. A sway and a wiggle in her walk, Savannah went up to Don's apartment, letting herself in with her key. Only then did she check her phone messages.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Fuck. I'm in the middle of filling out reports and you send _that_ to me?

* * *

Putting her purchases down, Savannah laid on his bed, stretching languorously and preparing herself to reel him in, hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Baby, I'm on your bed right now.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

...what are you wearing?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Get here and find out. I'm so...wet. ;)

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I've got cases! Gah, you're a torture, Cormier.

* * *

Savannah laughed, playing with a curl as she thought of what to type next to send him spinning into a frenzy.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

Aw, but I miss you so much. Watching those guys on the big screen has got me so fired up right now. All desperate and in need...all for you, imagining your big, strong, sexy body over me, making me scream. Oh, Don...

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I have to hide my 'problem' under my desk. Thanks.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

See? He misses me! :D And you love this.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

Yes I do, my little temptress Edesia. You're so hot.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

I'm still waiting. Please come home soon. Or I might have to start without you. Won't that be a nice sight to come home to? You rushing from work and into the bedroom just to find me playing with myself, all glistening, moaning in tune to my fingers doing some very cheeky things. That's what you do to me Donnie boy ;)

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I almost just made a mess of myself. And don't you dare start without me. If I can get through these reports, I can get back to the apartment sooner than two hours.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

I'll be waiting :D

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

You minx. Can't wait.

* * *

Mission accomplished, Savannah smiled, shucking her clothing and reaching for all of the sex shop bags. Her body tingled all over and she felt like she had just completed a successful siren call, leading her lover into the depths of sensuality. She could just imagine him trying to keep his cool, calm, Flack persona on in the midst of receiving her lusty texts.

She had a quick shower and laced up the corset, admiring the way it felt on her skin, emphasising the hips Don loved so much and bringing her confidence back.

"Bam, baby," she whispered to her reflection in the mirror, naked save for the lush black leather. She felt confident in this! She felt amazing, she felt desirable and she wished she could have felt like this during the whole Waverly thing. She felt so in control. So positive in what she wanted to do. She idly traced the eyelets where the ribbon laces threaded through and then moved her hands upwards, over her bare skin and little fizzles of lust and wants exploding everywhere she touched.

She imagined they were Don's hands, hungrily exploring skin he had traversed many times before, but every time he touched her it was like it was the first time all over again. Curious, but confident.

Savannah whimpered, the desire within pounding like a drumbeat in her heart.

Before she ended up starting without her partner, Savannah reached for the edible lingerie. It felt odd to slip on a garment that was not made of material but food. It was a heat resistant chocolate, coloured black, and while it didn't exactly support her bust, who cared? Don was just going to eat it off her anyway. The panties were a bit tricky to get into (she accidentally tore off a bit on the side) but she managed it.

With a happy little grin, feeling like a naughty sexpot, Savannah laid on his bed, stomach down, her curls like a rippling river over her bare shoulders, meeting the food garment she wore. To pass the time, she let her imagination play clips from Magic Mike over and over again and browsed the internet for erotic fiction she could read to get herself in the mood.

An hour later, her phone buzzed.

* * *

_Text to: Savannah_

_From: Don_

I'm on my way. Be there in 10.

* * *

Savannah felt hot with anticipation and wiggled her hips happily. She stretched in preparation, chuckling to herself at the moment in which he would come in and see her – and his expression would be priceless before it turned into something she kept private. She let out a low moan at the thought and shut her eyes tightly, squeezing her inner muscles.

It felt too soon that a key turned the lock and a slightly rough, sensual voice said, "You drive me crazy babe."

And then Don was there, in the doorway, watching his beautiful girlfriend undulated on his bed, coyly looking over her shoulder as her backside was on full display. His eyes widened and then hooded with desire as she slowly rolled over onto her side to face him with a knowing smile. She looked glowing with happiness and yet dark with need, those eyes flashing more green than grey at him, tempting, teasing wickedly. The darkness of the garments against her pale skin complemented her greatly and he felt his throat dry up and blood rush everywhere, making him tingle in a good way. He grinned back, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"You know how hard it was not to run out of that precinct when you first sent me the text?" he asked, throwing his shirt towards the general direction of his closet, leaving the white singlet underneath as he took a step forward.

"Very. I like giving you a challenge though. Hungry?" Savannah asked in a husky tone, fingering the latex looking bra. "This is edible."

"Oooh, when did you get that?" Don asked curiously, unbuckling his belt.

"Today. I found this as well," she replied, running her fingers over sinfully black leather.

"Very, very nice," Don murmured in clear approval, making Savannah laugh.

"When you walked I was tempted to ask if that was a gun in your pocket," she teased, purposefully glancing at his crotch area.

"Baby…you know I'm always happy to see you," he countered, moving his eyebrows up and down to make her giggle more. He toed off his shoes and socks, his belt following them to the floor as he gazed upon the curvy, supple form on his bed. Don just wanted to jump on her, ravage her, take her as only he could and remind her how much physically she made him ache, show her how much she affected him. They had been without intimate contact for too long.

"How're you feeling other than that?" wondered Savannah aloud, sultry as she moved to sit upright, twirling a curl around her finger and revelling under the scorching heat of his gaze.

"Like I've been locked out of heaven for too long and now you're handing it back on a silver platter," Don replied, moving closer still, iron clad control preventing him from giving in to lust. He wanted to savour this moment, the resurgence of playfulness from the woman he loved the most. His blue eyes followed the sensuous line of her body, from her toes, up those smooth legs to the hips, framed elegantly by the underwear and corset, to the cinched waist that was always a perfect resting place for his hands. He lingered there, on the corset, before moving up, licking his lips to wet them as he gazed at the roundness of her perfectly shaped breasts (he liked they weren't large, just right to cup in his hands) nestled in the edible material, up the pale column of her throat to Savannah's eyes, flashing with both love and desire, the invitation clear.

"So poetic," murmured Savannah liltingly, rubbing her thighs together. "Who knew?"

He gave her a wolfish grin, placing on knee on the bed, still closer, and undoing the fly of his jeans so slowly that the click of each of the teeth unlatching was distinguishable. "Only for you. Always for you," he said lowly.

Savannah gulped audibly, breathing heavier as she just watched him strip off the jeans. She felt like she was the prey and he was the predator, honing in on her. She tilted her head back, hair swishing softly over the comforter, displaying willing submission to him. "Don…" she whispered. "I'm yours."

"Yeah," he husked, leaning over her, holding her eyes with an intense stare that communicated so much it made her gasp. "My beautiful Savannah." He bent down to lightly brush his lips over hers, teasing, not quite a kiss. "Unique." He suckled on her throat as he reached out, holding her forearms down gently, indicating she wasn't allowed to touch. "Special." He then nuzzled down until he reached the bra, licking it and making an amused sound. "Delicious." Don then moved back up to meet her eyes again. "And all mine."

Then he finally caught her, blazing the imprint of his lips against hers with the desperation of a man who had thirsted for this kind of love, the physical, evident kind that swept lovers away in a haze of need, a passionate whirlwind of touch that shook them up and spat them out for the better of a relationship. Savannah made a high pitched moan of pleasure as Don came at her with a deluge of touch, kisses, gentle nips as his hands scrabbled over her body hotly, overwhelming her with everything.

There was nothing soft about this.

It was raw.

Needy.

Connection.

The lingerie was quickly eaten away by the detective, purposeful with a mission to see her creamy skin in completion. As she bucked and moaned in pleasure, Savannah roamed her hands anywhere she could reach, parting her legs to allow him easier access to her body. She ripped at the singlet and boxers, wanting him as naked as she was becoming.

"Patience," he snickered, looking up from the valley between her breasts.

"I missed you so much," Savannah whispered emphatically, the truth of her words clear in her eyes and actions.

"Me too, but we got all night. I don't plan on letting you out of this bed anytime soon," Don said firmly, getting to work on unlacing the corset, the resolve a burning desire for her, as hot as his skin was to the touch in the fever of foreplay.

Savannah wondered if she could positively get wetter than she was after _that_ statement.

Naked now, skin sliding over skin in delicious friction, Don took the chance to grasp her head firmly but with tender hands, guiding her to look right at him. Emotion was welling up under his ribcage, and was going to explode as soon as he entered her. He paused their frenzied foreplay to take possession of the moment – Anna panting, face eager and needy, fingers gripping his shoulder blades while he was encapsulated by the legs wrapped around him – to brand his lips over hers again to let their tongues tangle erotically in a simple mimic of what was yet to come. "Never stop being this confident," he muttered to her. "Don't you dare stop giving all of this emotion to me. You are the only one I want. Ever since our first kiss. Mine. And I'm yours."

"Mine. And yours," she repeated, nodding, dragging his lips to hers again. "Please," she begged softly.

Feeling warmth flood from top to toe, Don nodded, readjusted his position.

And then let the magic begin.

* * *

**A/n: Quite a change of pace, even I'll admit! But blame my muse – she was influenced by Christina Aguilera's 'Your Body' and Bruno Mars's 'Locked out of Heaven' along with the film Magic Mike and various other erotica. *sigh* What the muse wants, she gets, and she wanted sexy time before next chapter. **

**Reviews are welcomed and appreciated. Did I ever tell you that you guys are amazing?**


	20. Downhill Turn

**A/N: I had to do it. I just HAD to. THIS was the original idea I had. The Waverly plot almost never made it in due to the magnitude of this. Sorry for dragging you on another downhill slope on the rollercoaster guys. There's a loop ahead. Thank you to: Smuffly, SomebodyWhoCares, JJ, Kayla, Stampiej and Leslie Emm for the awesome reviews for last chapter. I forgot to mention…WE CRACKED 100! So thanks so much for that :D**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6. Set about 3 months after 'On the Mend'

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing,** **violence, blood. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 20 – Downhill Turn**

* * *

_Though the pressure's hard to take  
It's the only way I can escape  
It seems a heavy choice to make  
And now I am under all_

**Florence + the machine – Never Let Me Go**

* * *

With the slightest breath, a pyramid of playing cards can come toppling down.

No matter how much effort is given in building such a feat of balance and precision, the slightest flaw in the atmosphere can send it crashing to the floor, unheeding of the despair of the person who created the painstaking pyramid.

The same happens with life.

It was a gloomy day in New York on the 17th of May.

Clouds hung low like they were about to cry raindrops at any moment, a rumble of thunder would crackle along the city at random intervals. The atmosphere was cloying, humid, prompting those with plans that involved the great outdoors to rethink it. The glass and steel buildings looked severe as if the dreary day had pulled their moods down. The modern buildings seemed to cut the sky while the older buildings seemed to weep for their lost glory days. Well-kept buildings staggered under the gloom and the unkempt ones relished in the dimness of the day. Even most of the inhabitants of the city looked even more rushed, paranoid, worried than normal. This was a day where things _happened._

Savannah was in her cafe, dreamily staring at the sky as she sipped her tea. She was dressed in a cheery orange shirt to match her sneakers in defiance to the grey skies. She was content, smiling. Her cafe was half full – a success on a day like this – and the buzz of activity behind her was soothing.

She had been doing quite well, she had thought. Even the fact the total of the penny pincher was now up around $1500 couldn't bother her. She knew she (or the Crime Lab when she turned over the tapes eventually) would catch them sooner or later. And then she could finally get answers. But until then, what kept her buoyant was her secure relationship with Don. They were back on track, especially after that much needed union three days ago where they had hardly left his bed save for the call of nature or for food for almost a day (her timing had been perfect. He had a day off the next day).

"Miss Anna," a voice said behind her, tentative.

Turning in her seat, the culinary whiz saw Maddie, one of her two best serving girls, shifting from foot to foot and appearing to have something weighing heavy on her mind. Curious – and the slightest bit suspicious – she asked, "Yes? Something wrong?"

"I need to tell you something," the young woman blurted in a whisper, brown eyes flicking this way and that as if the FBI were listening in on her.

Feeling the urgency, Savannah stood and inclined her head towards the back. "Let's go in the office then," she invited.

Maddie looked like she couldn't get there fast enough, rushing ahead and sitting on the guest stool before Savannah had even gotten to the doorway of the kitchen. She paused, wondering why Maddie was acting so skittish. Maddie was placid, hardworking, and smart too. She never did anything rushed and was never nervous, even around the rougher clientele the cafe drew in at times.

Closing the door behind them for privacy, the older woman crossed her arms, leaning against it. Her brows snapped together in a frown as Maddie seemed to struggle for her words.

"Mads," Anna said in a compassionate tone, trying to get her to relax, "you can tell me whatever it is. Good or bad. I mean it. Let the words flow."

Blowing out a shaky breath, Maddie mumbled something too low for her to hear.

"What was that?"

Huffing, the younger woman repeated it. "I said, I'm not your robber."

Savannah's brows then migrated so they were almost touching her hairline in surprise. "And tell me why should I believe you? Why wouldn't you come and tell me that before?"

"Because I didn't think you would believe me because I didn't have any proof or anything even though I've never even touched a penny," babbled Maddie frantically. "You're too good to us all, you're such a great boss and I mean that, I really do. But a few nights ago, I finally saw something that'll prove me innocent."

Getting a feeling this was too good to be true, Anna queried, "How good is this proof? I need you to be certain before I start pointing fingers. I can't have something flimsy fall apart in front of me when I try to use it."

Nodding, Maddie said, "I understand that. But I saw this all with my own eyes, I even wrote it down in my diary so if I need to go into court or something it's all there. I know who's been stealing from you and I know why."

The temptation of knowing was there, to hear a name even if it wouldn't be fully verified until later. There was something so truthful about Maddie's eyes. "Okay. Who?" asked Savannah, daring to hope.

"It's-"

The deafening bang of a gunshot made Maddie trail off into a shriek and Savannah freeze, heart suddenly pounding in her ears.

And then, another shot.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," whispered Maddie, panicked and afraid, recognising the sounds as Savannah did. "What do we do?"

"Stay here," ordered Savannah, thanking all that was holy that she had left her bag in the office today. Her gun was in her bag. She took it out, listening as she heard voices order her cooking staff out into the main area of the cafe. She waited, nerves on high alert, for the voices to discover her tiny room of an office.

They didn't.

She crept to the door, mentioning for Maddie to hide under her desk as she listened. She could hear fearful voices, quavering, not knowing how to properly respond. She could hear the attackers. It sounded like two men and from the shots, they had guns. Savannah cursed hotly, allowing the expletives to rush out of her mouth at the coincidence. The _one_ time there's not a lawyer, police officer or detective or someone that had _something_ to defend themselves weren't here, she gets people coming in with guns blazing.

Fortifying herself with the cool steel in her palm and the knowledge of all of the training she had been given by Don and friends, Savannah edged out into the kitchen, seeing it deserted. The voices were louder now, a gruff man ordering, "Against the counter, all of you. Lionel, where's the girl?"

There was a whimper and then the other man, presumably Lionel, said, "Darl, you knew this was coming."

Trying to look as non-threatening as possible, Savannah hid her gun behind her back and stepped out, asking in a voice far more confident than she felt, "What's going on?"

As all eyes turned to her, surprised, she tried to take in every detail.

All her workers and customers were lined up against her counter, all of them white with paralysed fear, defenceless against the weapons pointed at them, keeping them in line. There was no blood, no injury, so it appeared that the gunshots had been directed upwards to the ceiling. Two men stood in the middle of the cafe before them, their guns large and gleaming menacingly in the lights shining from above. They were both tall, blonde, stone faced and serious. Both Caucasian, although one was skinnier than the other. The skinny one turned the gun towards her. "Don't move. We're here for one thing only," he warned her harshly.

Slipping the small firearm into her back jeans pocket, the cafe owner put her hands up, moving forward and keeping eye contact, trying to get the slightest rapport with the man, trying to find a shred of humanity in him. It was eerie how he was so composed, as if he threatened people like this every day. She had expected him to shout at her until her ears went numb from his voice. "If I knew what you wanted, I could help you. Get you out before the cops arrive – and they will arrive, given the gunshots you fired," she replied in a low, soothing tone.

The thin man smirked, but there was no kindness, just a line cutting his worn face. "Lionel. Tell the nice lady what we're doing here," he ordered his co-conspirator, lowering the gun just a fraction.

Lionel, the broader one, pointed his gun towards a person in the line up. "Come on darl," he encouraged the mystery person, "come on out and tell your boss just why we're here."

Some of the calmness Savannah had been gripping in an attempt to keep a sane head in this precarious situation fell from her hands like a slippery fish as Paula, one of the two originals and the other 'best' worker she had, stepped forward, ebony head bent towards the ground in obvious manifestation of shame. She felt the betrayal then as if she had been punched in the stomach and slapped across the face at the same time. "Paula?" she asked, voice wavering uncertainly.

What did Paula, the happy, carefree, stylish Paula have to do with all of this? Was _she_ the thief?

"Go on darl, tell 'em all," Lionel goaded, wiggling the gun. "Grant wants to know the full story too, you know."

Paula looked up at them, eyes bloodshot and tears glimmered on her lower lashes. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she whimpered. She looked to Lionel. "You weren't meant to come here like this! I shouldn't have supported you in the first place."

"Can someone tell me what the _hell_ is going on?" snapped Savannah, patience fading, replaced by fear, knowing that if the men decided it, they could shoot and take a life easily. She moved closer to Paula, entreating her to explain with her expression and a soft, "Paula, just spit it out."

Paula was under the glare of everyone's gaze like a spotlight, her lower lip trembling as she stuttered and attempted to speak. "I...I'm s-so sorry Savannah. I r-r-r-eally mean it, I'm so sorry and I never meant to hurt you. I know it was wrong. I wanted to confess. It was _me_. I'm the one who's been stealing from you."

Savannah had half expected it given that dark pit of foreboding in her stomach ever since Paula had stepped forward, dejection written all over her posture. But hearing the words, the stark confession finally unravelling the mystery, still hurt. Finally, some resolution. Under these circumstances, it was a hard won confession. Betrayed, angry, upset, and still a bit scared, Savannah demanded, hands shaking, "Why? Why do that to me after all that's happened? I know you better than that!"

Grant and Lionel seemed to get a perverse sense of pleasure from the melodrama, for they were silent, allowing the talk to continue.

"I was forced to!" Paula cried, pointing to Lionel. "It was because of him."

"Make sense kid, I ain't got all day, and you and Lionel still owe me another $300," Grant sneered at the quavering young woman.

"Lionel is my boyfriend," said Paula quietly, shuddering when her so-called boyfriend sniggered at her sudden timidness. "Or was. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before Anna. He got me hooked on cocaine and then he kept taking the money I was earning here and I didn't have money to rent or to eat. I _had_ to steal or else I'd be out on the street and doing something drastic for the drugs."

"You could have just told me," Savannah cried out in despair, reaching out as if to beckon Paula into her arms. "I could have _helped_ you."

"I didn't think you would. You, who is _so_ good. Saintly even. Even when you're not happy there's a virtuousness about you. You're my boss and I didn't want to see that disappointment in your eyes. I thought I could get over it on my own." Paula's eyes darted from Lionel, Grant, and Savannah in quick succession and then back again in a nervous cycle. They were her priests and she was confessing like it would be the last thing she ever did with the other waitstaff and customers as a public congregation witness. Her black lined eyes, once perfect, smeared as a tear escaped from her lashes and trailed blackly down her nose. Roughly pushing away her ebony bangs from her face, she mumbled, "I didn't mean for it to go so far, it got out of hand."

Glancing at the men with guns, Savannah quipped sarcastically, "You think?"

"You got a smart mouth on ya," Grant said conversationally, turning so that the gun was pointing at Savannah once more. "Better be careful. A nice woman like you can get into trouble with a mouth like that."

The cafe owner had to bite the inside of her cheek hard, almost drawing blood, to prevent the insult snapping out like a rubber band held tight and released.

"You stole from me. I don't think I did anything to deserve that, did I?" she instead barked at Paula, who shrank back from her frustration, finally having a worthy outlet in this dangerous situation. Savannah's face was drawn tight with anxiety, lines creasing her forehead and mouth pulled down in unhappiness. "I couldn't even tell you were doing it on the cameras! No matter how sorry you are, no matter what reason you did it for, you lied to me. You made so many stupid decisions that could have been avoided if you had just stopped and looked at yourself."

"You don't think I tried? I was going to tell you but you went in the hospital and I got another dose," Paula whimpered.

"All right ladies, you've had confession time," Grant drawled cruelly, bringing them back to reality. He gestured to Lionel, who then turned to Paula and said, "I need the $300 darl."

"I don't have it!" Paula cried out.

"Why didn't you steal more if you were stealing?"

Shamed, the ebony haired young woman shuffled from foot to foot, looking at the ceiling as if it had all the answers written there. "It was hard Lionel, I couldn't take too much. I feel guilty!"

'_And so she should,' _thought Savannah, but no one deserved to be threatened like this.

Lionel's face turned ugly and he repeated, "I need the money to pay off Grant. And if Grant isn't paid off, I get in the shit with him, and no one wants to get in the shit with Grant. Trust me." He then leered at everyone lined up, watching and waiting with bated breath as Grant watched on, vaguely approving of his protégé. "Wallets out. Now. Everyone. Or else someone gets hurt." As he waved the gun around, people quickly scattered, heading for their stashes just in case the men followed through with their intimidation tactics.

Savannah didn't move, holding her chin up in defiance, but silent, glaring spitefully at the two who had dared disturb her peaceful, tranquil cafe all over the small amount of $300. If she could, she'd throw them both out of there, but the ever present reminder of the firearms prevented her.

Another situation she felt helpless in.

As Lionel greedily collected the money from her staff and customers – innocent bystanders in all of this due to Paula's mistakes – Grant sauntered closer to the cafe owner under the strain of tension. His cold eyes were dead. Even her warmth couldn't touch a soul that dead. "Don't look so upset. It doesn't suit such a pretty face," he muttered.

"You come barging in here and threaten the lives of people I know. I'm not in the mood to play games. You've desecrated my home by doing this," she seethed quietly.

"Happens every day. You'll get over it."

"No, I won't get over it. I'll get even," Savannah promised with the fires of scorn blazing away in her eyes, staring him down.

Grant smirked, eyes amused. "Tough talk from a woman who has nothing backing her," he said.

"Coming from scum," she retorted in a tone of steel.

Any fleeting pass of amusement disappeared and the blonde man gripped the front of her shirt, pulling her forward. His eyes seemed to search hers and he concluded, "You are afraid. But not of me. Not of what I can do to you. Interesting. Not many people can stare into my eyes like that and get away with it."

Struggling away, Savannah brushed her shirt free of the wrinkles that had formed, skin crawling like ants had been injected into her nerve endings. She stepped back, attempting to control herself. She felt like she was going to puke at any second from the roiling hate, despair, and fear in her stomach. Every instinct was screaming to either run or finally make a move and fight, protect everyone from this tyrant. Only the weight of her gun, secure in her back pocket, kept her calm.

"You've got your $300, leave them alone!"

Paula's high pitched cry diverted everyone's attention to her.

Lionel was ripping apart Amy's handbag while Paula attempted to stop him, Amy sobbing as her savings were stuffed into the larger man's pockets. The rest of the customers and staff were huddled together in a corner, watching with wide, frantic eyes. It made Savannah's ire rise further and red flashed in front of her eyes. The urge to protect was so strong…she gripped the counter behind her to earth herself.

She couldn't move. Not yet.

Amy was roughly pushed aside by Grant, who stalked over to Paula and Lionel, struggling over the cash. "That's the plus interest we forgot to mention. Tut tut, look at all the mess you've created, little Paula. You should have thought of that before you decided to deal with us," he said in an oily, evil tone.

Paula turned her efforts from her ex to Grant, slapping him across the face. "You both got me hooked on a drug I never wanted in the first place!" she shrieked angrily.

Grant appeared nonplussed, ignoring the red handprint forming on his cheek as he glared at her. "Now that wasn't nice."

"Go to hell," Paula wailed as everything, the lies, the addiction, the bad choices came crashing all around her, making her say and do things that would lead to her downfall.

"Paula, shut up!" Savannah warned, knowing with sickening lucidity what was to happen next.

The younger woman didn't hear, too absorbed in anguish for what she had done, the good people she had hurt in the process, to think straight and put her survival first. She slapped the crueller man again, shouting, "Bastard!"

Grant moved as quick as a flash, the barrel of the gun shining menacingly as he brought it up, cocked it, and then without a shred of hesitation, remorse, or any reaction but satisfaction, fired it directly into Paula's head, stripping the life from her. She fell like a broken, gothic Barbie onto the ground as blood spurted from the wound. Everyone screamed in fright at seeing the gory death, a porcelain doll losing her life in a split second. Lionel appeared slightly confused, but he too was uncaring about the fact a murder had just been committed.

Savannah felt like a thief had just stolen all the air in her lungs and paralysed her. "No…" she whimpered as she focussed on Paula's splayed form, her face a mask of despair in death. "No!" she cried out in grief. Paula was dead. And now she would never know that she wanted to talk the issues with her drugs out, get her help, get her away from these titans.

The harsh voices of the men telling her customers and staff to shut up or else they would meet the same fate prompted Savannah to rashly reach for her gun, cocking it and aiming it at Grant.

"Get out!" she growled out loudly, grief and anger warring, fuelling her protective streak.

Grant whirled around, sneering at her audacity initially only to see that she wasn't as defenceless as he had thought.

"Get the hell out of here!" Savannah screamed, taking a wide stance, ignoring the trembling of her hands. She had to fight, if not for herself or the other people who still had life in them in this risky scene, but for the pale, lifeless Paula.

Grant chuckled, pointing his own gun back at her. "What's that little peashooter going to do to me, huh?"

"Leave. Just leave us be! Don't make me do this!" she exclaimed, nervously licking her lips as they went dry, feeling numb everywhere, like this was a nightmare that felt too close to reality. "You were the one who brought the gun instead of taking us on the old fashioned way. I'll say this only once again. _GET. OUT!_"

That creepy little chuckle again.

And then Grant charged, preparing his gun, the finger tightening on the trigger.

Those seconds felt like hours.

He had only taken about two steps towards her, snarling like an unholy demon, intending to kill her just as surely as he had just slaughtered Paula. Savannah gathered up her fear, acknowledged it, and then purged it as her own finger tightened on the trigger of her gun, her guardian. She took one deep breath, hoping she wouldn't accidentally hit one of the innocents behind the drug dealer.

"Dear Lord…save our souls," she breathed.

She then expelled the breath, her knees wobbling, making her start to drop as she finally pulled definitively on the trigger, the bullet exploding from the muzzle of the gun. The replying shot from his gun was just as loud, creating a double boom effect as the small pieces of lethal metal whizzed through the air. She was unheeding to the sudden scorching stripe of pain along her left arm as she fell. She could only watch as her bullet sliced through the air and embedded itself in the flesh of her opponent's chest. Blood bloomed spectacularly from the wound, splattering across the counter and ceiling as the force of it made the man topple backwards, ending up like his victim.

Dead. On the ground.

Savannah, collapsed on the floor and staring at the two lifeless bodies, felt all of her turn grey and dull, realising what she had just done. She was ignorant to the refreshed screams and the fear in the atmosphere. No, she had protected them from a monster. But at what cost? She felt something within her wither and die, and nothing could pull her from the shock she had felt.

She was now the monster. She had taken a life.

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**A/N: Um…whoa. I had no idea I had that in me. **

**Don't hit me! I promise it'll work out fine. Reviews are always appreciated. **


	21. Not Again!

**A/N: I watched Les Miserables today. Completely bawled my eyes out at the ending. Epic film though! Anyway, moving on, WOW GUYS! Thanks for such wonderful responses for the last chapter. If I didn't get back to you on those, I'm sorry, I've been busy. To Smuffly, CSINYNut, SomebodyWhoCares, Forest Angel, Leslie Emm, JJ and Kayla, you are all freaking amazing. Keep it up! **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing,** **angst, mentions of violence/death/blood**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

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**Finding Our Way – Chapter 21 – Not Again!**

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_Or will you stay  
Even if it hurts  
Even if I try to push you out will you return?  
And remind me who I really am  
Please remind me who I really am_

**Kelly Clarkson – Dark Side**

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"Okay, what do you think then oh wise detective of the 12th?"

Flack rolled his eyes at Danny and chucked a crumpled up piece of paper at his friend's head. "I think that you are letting your imagination get away with you on this case. Trent Donahue was beaten in his own apartment. Something tells me that one of the neighbours isn't telling us something and that there's no such thing as a unicorn regardless of that solid gold horn you guys found. I think it's a woman thing because of that big collection of ladies underwear we found in his closet. Weren't there multiple donors?"

"Yeah, there were. Killjoy, I was having fun with the unicorn idea. So was Adam for that matter," replied the Italian with a brief grin, making Don smirk in reply at the mental image of Adam looking at the 'unicorn' horn with childish wonder.

Flack perused the report again, looking over what he and the CSI's had observed and discovered earlier that morning when the clouds were just gathering for the day. The reminder of the gloomy weather made him mention, "Looks like no hoops later this afternoon buddy."

Pulling a face, Danny said, "Yeah, it sucks. It's like the weather is PMSing."

Don snorted in amusement. "Nice analogy. Thanks for that mental image."

"I live to serve," ribbed the shorter man. He then sat up and asked, "If not b-ball, how about a chilled out dinner and beer? Your place or mine, whatever, but I haven't seen Anna in a few days and I'm missin' her cookin'. How she doin'?"

"Yeah, good. We're doing good." Don smiled with the memory of the last time he had saw her. Yesterday morning, her hair splayed along his outstretched arm as they commiserated together about getting up early in the morning. Her eyes had sparkled and her smile had been special. There was still a little bit of left over worry about how they were travelling after a hard month, but all in all, the seams were pulling together.

"So, you reckon she'll agree to makin' something while she's at the cafe?"

"I'm sure she will. Has she ever refused us without good reason before?" countered Flack.

Danny shrugged. He twirled a pen in his fingers as he replied, "No, but you never know when one might start. Anyway, why don't-"

Whatever Danny was going to say was drowned by the doors of Captain Haplan's office banging open, a dark expression on his face as he sped over to Flack's desk. He was flanked by an officer just as Flack and Danny's phones went off. "Don't answer 'em," he ordered them gruffly. "My office, now."

The pair glanced at each other uncertainly before complying.

Away from the curious eyes of the other officers and detectives, Haplan cut straight to the chase. "A call just came through from dispatch a few minutes ago, with reports of shots fired at a location. The girl is still on the phone with them right now and she's relaying any information she can. Gentlemen, you're not going to like what I'm going to say. But before I do, I have to have your word that if I let you in on this, you're to keep a cool head. If I get any indication you have jeopardised the NYPD's reputation in any way, regardless of the circumstances, consequences will follow."

Danny agreed, but Flack saw through the lines, taking his cue from Haplan's body language. Not wanting to voice his suspicion but needing to know, he demanded, "It's at the Comfort Cafe, isn't it?"

Haplan met his gaze steadily. "Your word," he repeated.

"I'm not going to be stupid," Flack promised, but panic was rising and like when he heard about the kidnapping last year, he felt every inch of him wanting to run, get there was fast as he could.

"It is. So far, no one's been hurt that we know of and uni's are on their way now. Don, I know this is hitting close to home, but I'm allowing you there because I know you'll tear this place apart otherwise. Now, make haste. No more talk," the grizzled captain ordered, grabbing his jacket as the two detectives took the chance to sprint out, heading for the car.

When they reached it, Danny wrested the keys from the stony faced Flack. "I'm driving. I'm not letting you split your attention between worry for Savannah and the road – let me take care of the second bit," he said firmly, racing to the driver's side.

The wheels screeched loudly as Danny peeled out of there, Don putting his face in his hands and trying to keep it collected. "Not again!" he growled, anxiety shredding through the promise he had just made to his captain. "Fuck, does she have some kind of sign tattooed to her head saying 'fuck with my life, I'm good for it?' Damn it!"

"You heard Haplan, no casualties," Danny attempted to reassure, but he knew that the memories of a few years ago where another beautiful brunette was in peril and her life was taken away in the same place were cropping up again.

"That place is cursed!" exclaimed Flack, banging the dashboard in aggravation with his fist. He leaned back, shaking his head, face lined and dark as the sky above. "You'd think we'd get just a little peace, huh, just a _little_! But no, life just hits us with another sack of BS."

Sensing that the fury was slowly building up, about to explode with anything to trigger it, Danny quickly tuned into the dispatch channel, hoping that to get a better read on the situation. There was the never ending call for certain units to get to the cafe, and with each call, Danny could see the cracks in the foundation of Flack's self control form. He set his mouth in a line. Those two had just fixed things between them; this was too close together from crap they had just been through. From what dispatch had relayed, looked like this was an armed robbery.

"_Note to all units, broadcasting call from witness at the Comfort Cafe scene,"_ a voice crackled over the radio before the panicked voice of Maddie came through. Both men recognised her voice as one of the serving girls at the cafe.

"_Oh my God, they're shouting again. I don't know…oh my God, Paula, what are you thinking insulting that guy?"_

Flack stared at the radio as if he was staring at Maddie, willing her to explain what was going on. Then, there was the muffled sound of a gunshot, and Flack froze. No…who got hurt? Not Savannah, not again, no, no, not Savannah. Please, anyone but her. "Come on!" he grumbled to the air, bashing his hand against the car again.

"_Oh my God, he just killed someone!" _her shaky, quiet voice flooded the car as the volume increased by Danny. Then, filling Don with a touch of relief, he could hear Savannah' voice trail into the call. She was screaming for the perps to get out. But it made him wonder, if she was alive…what the _heck_ was she doing? Did she have her gun or…

"_Savannah's coming to the rescue. Oh please, I hope he doesn't kill her too, I don't want to move…c'mon cops, where are you guys?"_

Some quick, frenzied breaths came through as Don and Danny were five minutes away, joined by a few generic cop cars. Then, something that decimated their slight hopes into miniscule specks of dust.

"_Anna, no!"_

The sound of two gunshots.

And then, screaming just before the live feed was cut.

Screaming. From Maddie on the line. From the customers and staff in the cafe. And from Flack as he stared in anguish at the radio. "Savannah!"

He knew, then and there, he would run in to the same picture he had those years ago.

Pandemonium.

Chaos.

And…no, he didn't want to think it. This was just a bad, sick, horrible joke. It couldn't be true. Savannah _had_ to be alright. She had to be. He didn't know how he could handle it if he walked into the _exact_ same picture he had with Jess. A woman he loved on the floor, who he would pick up and cradle in her last moments.

"No, no," he moaned, recoiling from the hand placed on his shoulder. The pain was the same. The stake pushed in and barbed edges twisted.

"Keep the faith Don," Danny encouraged with a thousand times more confidence that he felt, and even then he felt his hopes sink and the threat of tears. Surely another person who they all cared for wouldn't be taken from them – and send Don on another downward spiral. Not again. Anna couldn't be dead. But the silence from the radio was ominous.

They finally got there, screeching to a halt and bolting out of the car. Three police cars were already out in front. It was different. No big black truck smashed through the front windows. But people were pouring out of the front door, being led and assured by officers. Savannah was not among them, but Jacks was. Upon seeing their drawn and anguished faces, she called out to them, "She's alive! Inside!"

Don felt his heart leap and rushed towards the entrance.

As he did, two officers lead out a handcuffed blonde haired bear of a man, who looked dead inside. "Damn...she got him...she got him," he kept muttering.

Don, too elated by the prospect Anna was okay, didn't fully comprehend the words until he entered the bloody scene.

There, closer to the entrance, a dead woman lay, short black hair framing her pale face like a dark halo, blood trailing from the bullet hole in her head to the floor, pointing to the crimson puddle framed against the floor. It was Paula, one of the serving girls. And there was another dead body, another fair haired male, skinnier but meaner looking, face up and a snarl of hatred etched into his permanently still face. He had a gun in his hand, splattered with blood. The bullet hole in his chest was obvious, but small. Coming from a small gun.

The same small gun clenched in Savannah's hands from where she knelt on the floor, head bowed, eyes empty and grey. His blue eyes saw that she was injured, a thick bloody line marring her upper left arm. Flecks of blood dotted her features as she stared in shock at the dead bodies. She didn't move save for breathing, tears dripping slowly down her face, shuddering and shaking.

In seconds, Flack knew what had happened here. Paula had gone down. Savannah had protected her lioness's den and when the man had come for her, she had shot him.

Danny behind him grabbed handfuls of his shirt to prevent him running to her in pure relief. "Wait, man, not just yet. At least let me take photos so she's clear," he instructed, hating that he had to give such instructions, feeling like that he was neglecting his friend.

"No, let me go! She needs me!" Don bellowed.

Danny felt his heart sink through the floor when he heard nothing from the brunette on the floor. He jerked Don back and muttered, "Just do what I say for once."

Annoyed, he shot the shorter man a glare but decided to do what he could from the sidelines. "Savannah," Don called softly, wanting some response, anything. She hadn't even looked up as he had barged in, stress levels maxed out. She wasn't right. He knew why. She had killed someone – in self defence, yes – but she was such a loving, caring person that this would hit her hard. He felt like if he didn't get in contact with her now she would never be reached again.

Savannah didn't hear him, too stuck staring at the dead form of Grant the drug dealer. Dead, by her hand. All she could see was the cold ice eyes. She didn't even register the man calling to her desperately.

Flack felt like the walls were closing in then, realising that she wasn't responding to him.

It was like someone vacuumed his gut out.

"Danny, hurry up!" he urged, as Danny clicked away on his phone, preserving what the original scene looked like before they messed it up further. It was a valiant effort by Danny to get a whole capture of the scene. He had barely nodded when Don leapt forward, skidding to a stop in front of Savannah, crouching in front of her.

"Anna," he whispered, hesitantly grasping her shoulders. "Anna, what happened?"

Still, nothing. The lights were on but no one was home. Real, pure panic welled up in the detective and he gripped her shoulders tighter. "Savannah. Say something," Don pleaded hoarsely.

A blink.

"Savannah."

He looked her over, seeing that the bullet wound was still dripping a little blood and that her hands were clenched so tightly around her gun that the knuckles were white. He reached down, gently tugging on it. "Babe, let go. Savannah, I need you to say something, anything." She did not speak or let go of her gun, if anything, she held it ever tighter.

'_No, I'm not going to let her do this!'_ Don thought fiercely to himself, carefully shaking her shoulders, trying to get anything other than this paralysation of herself. He wiped at her face, dashing away the tears that leaked like slow waterfalls, calling, "Savannah! Savannah!"

A whimper, and another shudder.

Heart breaking in seeing just how deeply the effect of this devastating event had taken hold, Don closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath to stop from screaming at her to snap out of it. He remembered the first time he had taken a life in self defence and knew it would take a lot of work between them to heal the sudden tear in her soul.

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead, pressing a face into her hair and whispering in a last ditch attempt, "Come back to me my sweet Edesia."

Finally, a spark of life.

She shook, finally turning her head towards him and in a shaky whisper, so rough he could barely make out the words, "Don...I'm so sorry."

"No, no, that's okay," he hastened to assure her, glad that at least, there was something that was happening. It scared him so much how non-responsive she had been. He remembered case a long time ago when the victim had been a would-be murderer and the teenager who defended his family had shot him in self defence. That teenager had been admitted to the mental ward a week later when he had not responded to any form of stimuli – his brain had shut down from shock. For those moments Savannah had remained non-responsive, he had feared the same fate for her.

Savannah trembled harder, clutching her gun to her chest, whimpering. "Oh God, why are you touching me? I've...I've just killed someone."

"No, no, no, no, baby, you just saved all of these people in there," countered Don desperately, trying to salvage Savannah from spiralling down into a world of darkness and doubt. He placed his hands on either side of her face, staring her straight in the eyes.

He was shocked at what he saw reflected back at him. Self-hatred, fear, and a haunted look that he saw when he looked in the mirror after a hard day. A loss of innocence. She was lost, cast overboard into the sea of despair. He kept tenderly wiping the tears off her face and then looked around at the sound of his name, spoken gravely.

Mac and Jo were there, watching with sombre expressions.

"Don, you need to get her out of here," Mac advised quietly.

Jo stepped forward, murmuring, "I'm going to follow later to the hospital with you guys to get any extra evidence on her."

Nodding in reply, he turned back to the woman who had been shattered inside. Regretfully, he tugged at the weapon she clung to like a security blanket, muttering, "It's okay. I'm here. You can give it to me, I'll protect you."

"What if there's more?" It was child-like, scared, and so different to what she normally sounded like.

"They're all gone. You were so brave and got them to go away. I'm here," Don repeated slowly, determined to make sure this uncertain, fearful mood was as short a period as possible. This would not beat them down, no matter what. Eventually, he managed to uncurl her fingers from the gun and slipped it into the waiting evidence bag held out by Mac. Then, no thought to simply helping her up, Don swept Savannah up in his arms, ignoring her whimpered protests, enduring the sound of his heart cracking as she kept muttering, "No…no…not worthy. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." It was a plaintive, gut-wrenching litany.

Danny helped him, clearing the path through the witnesses – staff and customers alike – until they reached the car. As they did, the ME's arrived, along with Hawkes. It only reminded the men of the two lives that had been lost today.

Savannah was silent now, but her lips were moving like she was praying.

"Savannah, talk to me. I need to hear you." Don knew he had to keep trying to bolster her spirits, try to get her to snap from this shock-induced wide awake coma.

She slightly shook her head, simply shaking.

He sighed harshly, saying to her in a firmer voice, "Don't do this. We promised to talk, remember? You promised me! Savannah…you did _nothing_ wrong, you hear me, _nothing_!"

"Sorry…I'm so sorry," she muttered again.

"You defended yourself!" he cried as frustration peaked. "You protected yourself and every other person in that cafe – they owe you their lives as far as I'm concerned. You can't be sorry for still being _alive!_"

Savannah hiccupped and sobbed, curling in on herself and cringing away from his touch. Her well of tears had dried, for none fell. She was the definition of wretched.

At a loss for words, Don took a more forceful approach, grabbing her and hauling her back to him, pressing her against his side. He wanted to feel his relief that she was _alive_. He wanted her to feel the life that pulsed within them both, wanted her to see past the fact she had taken someone's life – she had done it to save herself and others admirably.

"Did you ever imagine that she would react like this if this kinda thing happened?" Danny asked solemnly from the front driver seat, checking in on them in the rear view mirror.

"Never. Not to this extreme," replied Flack hopelessly, resisting her weak struggles to get out of his arms.

"When Linds killed Shane Casey last summer, I expected this. She didn't, but I think because she's done it before she came to New York. But Anna, she's only seen this. Not ever caused it and…I dunno, I sound like a freaking shrink," Danny went on uncomfortably, knowing how this all felt. It was still preferable to the alternative – Savannah dead and Don lost to them once more.

"Yeah, I understand. She thinks that she's down on the level of monsters that prowl the streets, but she's not. She's a champion. She's a survivor," the taller man said quietly, frowning. "Did you hear me?" he directed at Savannah.

Savannah didn't respond, retreating back into the protective shell that had formed the second she had fired her gun.

* * *

Don Flack paced the hospital corridors aggressively. He was going around and around the floor again because going up and down the hallway outside of Savannah's room just wasn't cutting it. He was too wired – too pissed off, too hopeless to stay there. Her bullet grazed arm had been stitched up, but she might as well be a mannequin with the way she moved mechanically, stared straight ahead with grey eyes, and hadn't spoken since her first breakdown (he thought first, because there was bound to be a few more). He was freaking out – he was past worried, past anxious. He felt he was in the middle of the Sahara without a compass or a map, unsure where the heck to go from this point – another stumbling block in the journey. His own methods of getting past his own experiences with death had been a hard road, and one not suitable for Savannah. Not if he could help it.

If only she would come out of this weird dummy state, he could finally have some direction.

Danny had left him (with Jo after she had come to examine Anna for evidence), only after Jacks and Aunt Emilie had gotten to the hospital once Jacks had been cleared by officers at the scene. Mother and daughter were remaining outside of Savannah's room, waiting for the psychiatrist examining her to finish while Don prowled the floor like a caged tiger.

He was on his sixth or seventh go around when he neared Savannah's room again, surprised to see Sam and his parents occupying the seats to either side of Emilie and Jacks. Sam was talking quietly to the sombre Jacks and Emilie, Olivia and Donald were quietly discussing something. When he neared them they all looked up.

Olivia stood, her mothering habits causing her to comment, "Dear…you have blood on your shirt."

He briefly looked down, noting the few splatters of blood smeared across the khaki material. "Oh," he muttered. "Kinda not high on the priority list right now."

"Of course, of course," she murmured, moving to him and carefully taking his arm, guiding him closer to the rest of the group. "Sam heard through the police department grapevine about the shooting. We know what happened and we wanted to be here."

"Nice of you," Don replied succinctly. He really had little care factor. They were here, fantastic, now if only Savannah would waltz out of that hospital room ready to begin the next stage of moving on through this.

Donald knew what his son needed. He also stood, nodding towards the corridor. "Walk with me laddie," he murmured.

Olivia was about to protest, but a look from her husband had her closing her mouth.

This was something the two men had to do by themselves.

A little relieved, but taut with tension, Don stalked off, his father trailing slowly behind. He was far ahead when Donald called, "Don, over here."

He returned to see his dad standing in front of the elevator bay. "What are we doing?" he asked gruffly.

"Taking you out of here for one thing. Calming you down for another. And making sure your head is on straight my boy. I know you're not unaffected by this. You would be a cold bastard to be unaffected," Donald replied perceptively, stepping inside the lift and pressing the button for the ground floor. Don was silent, unhappy and haggard with anxiety.

The wandered out of the hospital, the elder Flack picking a direction and simply walking while his son kept the pace.

After a minute, Donald said wisely, "A man should never be in a hospital waiting for his partner or wife to get out of a room unless it's for one reason: waiting for her to have their baby."

"In a perfect world," the younger man said darkly.

"Yeah. And I believe this is the third time for you two in the past year, correct?"

"Yeah." Don just shook his head at that, detesting the differing sets of circumstances that had made Savannah land in the hospital. If he had control over those situations they would have never happened at all. How many more of these moments could he take where he feared for her life and that he would lose her before he just burst into a ball of rage?

He didn't want to know the number.

"I'm just saying, you guys have been through a lot, but keep doing what you're doing. Plugging along and trying to make it to the next day. You both need each other now more than ever," Donald advised sensibly. He stopped, looking at his son – who was bottling everything up inside save for frustration – and continued, "You can't give up on Anna now when she needs you most. No matter what she does."

"What do you think she's going to do, throw herself off the Brooklyn Bridge?"

Although said sarcastically, Donald merely looked grave at the insinuation, making Don catch himself. Incredulously, he hastily added, "Dad, she wouldn't so that. She's…she's not that kind of woman."

"She may not be, but I know your girlfriend. She's kind, loyal, and treasures life above all things. Think, Donnie. She just committed the one thing she told herself she was never ever going to do. Reality, situations like that, you can't prepare for them unless you've lived 'em. We've been there, done that, we know how to handle it. It's been our jobs. But your Savannah, she's been mostly innocent to the darker ways of the world until recently," the older man pointed out, rational points leading Don to understand it from his view.

Raking a hand through his hair roughly, Don sighed. "I don't want her to change. I don't want her to turn in to this completely different person that I no longer recognise," he admitted, professing his insecurity about the aftermath of this.

"You can't know until it happens. You were probably too young to remember this, Sam had just been born at the time, but I had the same fear too when your mother was in a car accident one day. A four car pile-up on the expressway. I had to run from my murder case to the hospital and wait until I found out if she was alive or not. While your grandmother looked after the three of you, I was told by doctors that there would be a chance of amnesia." Telling his tale grimly, Donald began to wind his way back to the hospital. "And when she woke up, for about an hour or so she couldn't remember who I was, what she was doing there, or even what her name was."

He paused, and then continued, "Son, I've stared down the barrels of more guns than I'm proud to admit. But I have never been so scared as that day, those few hours, when I thought that the woman I loved, the mother of my children and the person who puts up with all of my crap, would never come back to me. It's the worst thought in the world. But she remembered after she had rested a bit more. I just think the same will apply here. Savannah is going to need to rest and get in touch with who she is."

Don just followed alongside in silence, absorbing the advice. While it was all common sense, just having someone who knew what it felt like vocalise it all for him, commiserate, made him feel just a bit better.

They returned to Savannah's room just in time for the psychiatrist to come out of her hospital room, blank faced. When the Flack men came to a halt before him, he said in a no-nonsense tone, "I have tried stimuli by light, noise, visual aids, touching textured objects and smell. She's not responding to anything. She's in a very deep state of shock. It'll only take some time and positive reinforcement from close family and friends. I will prescribe anti-depressants if she doesn't respond further, but it's up to whoever has the power of attorney to see if she needs them."

Emilie, seated on a nearby chair, snorted, "Chere doesn't need no chemicals in her system."

Disapprovingly, the middle aged man looked down at her but informed them, "If there is any sign of improvement, try and see if she'll see someone for counselling immediately, be it me or another staff member."

"We will, doctor," Olivia assured.

Once he left, Don slipped through the door, going to stand next to her bedside.

Savannah was propped up on many pillows so she was sitting upright, her hands clasped primly in front of her on the infirmary bedspread. The hospital gown seemed to drown her, making her appear more pale and desolate, the darkness of her curls seeming dreary – like the weather – instead of vibrant. Her eyes had stayed that shade of grey, staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging Don's presence.

"Savannah," he murmured.

Nothing.

Not again.

Unexpectedly, tears welled up and he fought them valiantly. Where was her soul? This wasn't Savannah, this was just a shell. The momentary spark from before seemed to be extinguished completely.

Taking her hand, Don said heatedly, "I'm not going to give up on you. You've been stuck with me for a while now, and you're not getting rid of me that easy. You're not a monster. You defended yourself. You potentially saved so many lives today. I'm so glad you're alive, but if you could just _look_ at me, or do something! I don't care if you trash this room, scream you hate me, but just show the world it hasn't got you down just yet."

A little tremble from her, like the real Savannah was stuck inside and clawing to get out.

Despondent, Don slumped into a chair and gently kissed her hand, warming it up with his. He just stared at her, muttering the same assurances and words of love over again, feeling like heavy handed blows to his heart when the only reaction he got was the slight trembles.

"Don," Sam called, cracking the door open slightly.

When he turned towards her sluggishly, he noticed her eyes were red-rimmed – she had been teary like him.

"Mom and her Aunt Emilie want to try something," Sam went on, opening up the door wider and letting the stooped, wizened form of Emilie and the portly, younger Olivia through. She then shut the door in respect for their privacy.

"Move on, young man," Emilie murmured quietly, gesturing for him to get up. "If my idea works, she may flail about like a flopping fish on the pier. Don't want you to get conked out while she's doing that, you are stronger than us."

"What are you thinking?" he asked worriedly.

Olivia gazed down at the unnaturally still form in sympathy and sighed. "Some motherly love. We're not even sure how she'll react, but we have to try. She can't be like this, can you Savannah?"

Her response was to tilt her head to the side slightly and shiver.

Olivia reached out and tenderly ran her hand along the line of her forehead, and then dropped her hand to her side. "Poor dear," she murmured. She then carefully sat up on the hospital bed by Savannah's side, draping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her gently. She then nodded to Emilie – whose arthritis affected hands clasped Savannah's limp ones tightly. Emilie seemed to change before their eyes, becoming less old and stronger. Her voice was not as raspy as it was and she whispered, "Savannah Patia Cormier. Just breathe…and listen."

She took a deep breath and began to sing in a low, slightly husky tone.

"_When I find myself in times of trouble  
Mother Mary comes to me  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be  
And in my hour of darkness  
She is standing right in front of me  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be  
Let it be, let it be  
Let it be, let it be  
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be."_

Like a flower blooming, there was life at last, sprouting up out of the gloom that had surrounded Savannah in the drowning sea of white. A tear, almost pearlescent in the low light, slipped from grey eyes. It trickled slowly, but was followed by another instantaneously. A low whimper escaped lips that finally parted. She shook again, but it was longer and more visible. Don braced himself, trying to prepare himself for anything. His mother met his eyes, conveying that she trusted this crusty elderly woman who had known Savannah longer than them both.

"_Let it be, let it be, let it be,"_ hummed Emilie, eagle eyes watching intently as she crooned.

"...oh God, I'm so sorry."

Savannah's voice was whisper soft and she moved at last. But there was an air about her that told the watching trio that she was still stuck within herself. She didn't focus on them and she didn't look at any of them. She appeared to be addressing a point somewhere between her hands and the foot of the bed. Don was about to encourage her when she whimpered, "Mama...mama I'm so sorry. I never wanted to do that. I'm so sorry. Don't turn me away...please. Don't turn me away."

Olivia's eyes widened and she was the quickest to react. "No sweetheart," she said, "we could never turn you away. We know you're sorry. It's okay dear."

"_Let it be, let it be,"_ crooned Emilie once more.

The words were a key slowly unlocking Savannah from the state she was in. A dangerous mix of grief and self-loathing. She began to sob, growing louder with every moment, tears free from their grey confines. She pressed a hand to her mouth as if to stuff them back, to prevent them from being heard. All the while, Olivia stroked her hair, rocking back and forth like any mother would do to an upset child.

A cry of delirious desolation flew from Savannah and a flicker of furious passion bolted through her as she pounded a fist into the bed, wordlessly expelling the inner conflict.

Don couldn't take this. He couldn't watch such raw pain from her again.

He darted out the door and took a deep breath, looking from the rest of the combined families to the floor and back again. "She's wrecked by this. I'm not talking sad, I'm talking wrecked like when her friends died. And I...I can't reach her. Hell, it took my mother and her aunt to do it," he muttered rapidly, not quite despairing or angry, but in the middle.

Donald didn't say anything. He had said all he had needed to say earlier.

Sam seemed to flounder for the right words, but it was Jacks that finally replied.

"My mama wanted to sing because when she sings...she sounds like Aunt Evangeline – from what I can remember anyway. And the few times I had visited them when I was a pre-teen, she would always sing that song. 'Let it be.' Not a lullaby, but that song, and I don't think Savannah has listened to the Beatles since Evangeline died," she explained, giving all the answers that everyone needed. "Mama thought that singing it would shock Anna enough to come back instead of wherever she's in."

"You got that right." The detective held back yet another sigh and yawned instead. He was exhausted by the ups and downs of all that had happened today.

He looked through the window to the door and saw that Savannah was still sobbing onto his mother's shoulder, but there was recognition. She was back, and she was functioning again. He re-entered slowly, letting a quietly smug Emilie back into the hospital corridor.

As far as she was concerned, her work was done.

Don said, "Savannah, look at me."

She did – her eyes blurry with tears – and her lower lip trembled.

Don moved to the chair, taking her hands once more, reassured by the fact that she was following his movements, registering his voice. "You don't have to talk right now. I want you too, but if it's too hard...just squeeze my hand. That's all I want. Squeeze my hand and you can sleep," he murmured.

Savannah nodded and then he felt a strong grasp on his hand. Don squeezed back, leaning up and kissing her forehead, brushing away a few more leaked tears as her sobs dialed down once more. "Rest. Relax, we've had a hard day."

"Keep me safe," she finally gathered her wits about her enough to say.

"Always."

* * *

**A/N: This was such a difficult chapter to write. I think it's been the hardest one I've ever written so far because it's just so emotionally charged. I know you guys are all like, 'not another downhill slope!' I understand that, I do, but I've had this idea that's going to be played out in the next few chapters. I'm a sucker for a happy ending so rest assured that these two will sort things out eventually. Please review and tell me what you liked about this, and let me know how you felt about Savannah's reactions and her shock state. **


	22. Lost

**A/N: To Smuffly, Forest Angel, SomebodyWhoCares, Leslie Emm, Kayla, and JJ, you guys seriously humble me in your reviews. I mean it, you are amazing. And hello to anyone who recently favourite or alerted this fic, the support means a lot. By the way, to Kayla if you read this: Wow! I was amazed to see I could pull that much emotion, so thank you for that. Everyone, ready to see where this goes?**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing and angst.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 22 – Lost**

* * *

_I'm gonna pick up the pieces,  
And build a Lego house  
If things go wrong we can knock it down  
My three words have two meanings,  
There's one thing on my mind  
It's all for you_

**Ed Sheeran – Lego House**

* * *

Mac Taylor entered the hospital, face set with his usual determination and seriousness. It was the afternoon the day after the Comfort Cafe shooting, and the whole Crime Lab had worked non-stop under IAB orders to see if the evidence proved murder or self-defense for the one Savannah Cormier. When Don and Danny had whisked her away to the hospital, IAB had descended on the scene, darkening it further with their attitudes.

The agents that had been assigned to the cafe case were ones Mac had never worked with before and had never even visited the place or knew about how highly the NYPD held her in their regard. They had decided to treat it as if the hostage situation had never happened. Lindsay, Jo, and Hawkes had been so incensed by IAB's attitude that Mac had called up Chief Sinclair, calling in a favour.

Once Sinclair knew what happened, he ordered IAB to back off. IAB had originally been assigned to the scene to merely oversee that the evidence collection was impartial due to the fact she was linked to the PD, not to conduct their own investigation as to Savannah's guilt.

Deciding to work it as if Savannah was a suspect anyway was a strategy Mac had employed just to prove how innocent the young woman was in all this, a victim of unfortunate circumstances that had forced her hand and made her shoot to defend herself. He knew that Savannah wouldn't have the malicious intent to kill. She was a lover, not a fighter as the saying went. He had done most of the work himself, being so meticulous in every process that he tested everything he found three times to ensure quality control. While the rest of the team had worked diligently, he had taken the most time and hadn't slept since the evidence had come in – he didn't mind, he had stayed up for longer periods of time than this.

The evidence had proved conclusively that Savannah had acted in self defence in killing Grant Densler, the drug dealer. And there was no other way to construe the evidence. Along with eyewitness statements, it was painfully obvious that she had acted in self defence.

Galled that IAB had even the guts to accuse her of murder, Mac had marched in there a hour ago with a thick folder full of evidence and dropped it off. IAB had cleared her without hesitation after that.

He had taken it upon himself to tell her in person to assure her that no charges would ever be made out. That, and to check on her and Don.

He politely asked the nurse where the room was and made his way there.

When he reached the room, he peeked through the window into the room. Like he expected, Don was sitting in the hard, uncomfortable visitors chair, leaning over so that his head rested on the sheets, his hands gripping Savannah's like a lifeline. He was dozing, but Savannah was awake. She was sad, it was all too obvious. Her eyes were more grey than green and she stared down at Don's black haired head in a manner that was tinged with guilt and misery. Her lips were downturned and there was a haunted look in her eyes.

It was startling for Mac to see.

He entered as quietly as possible, murmuring, "Hey. How're you feeling?"

She jerked, not realising he had entered. "Oh, hey," she muttered in reply. "Numb, I think would be the best word. Or horrible. Numb and horrible."

"You did go through a devastating event," Mac said.

Savannah grimaced. "Yeah. Understatement of the year." She made a small movement to rest her hand on Don's head, threading through the short strands and stroking lightly. She was pained as she said, "I shut down. It took Olivia and Aunt Emilie to pull me back."

"I heard. Don called to keep me up to speed," the older man replied, "but that's normal. Much better than not feeling anything at all. Our first is always the most difficult. They're all difficult, but the first is the worst." He watched as the sleeping Flack unconsciously moved into Savannah touch, his own face lined and wan. "He's been here all night?"

"I think he's only left to change and have a shower. He's too good to me," Savannah murmured thoughtfully, voice thick with emotion. "Even after me not responding to anything he did…well, that's not true, I heard him. I tried to say something back but it was like my mouth was glued shut. He still kept trying. He's still sticking around."

"The things we do for love," Mac said sagely, taking a step closer. "Anyway, I mainly came here to tell you that you're cleared legally from any repercussions from the shooting. The lab's processed everything, the witness statements are holding up, and IAB has checked the box. It's a rush job, but it needed to be done."

Savannah just nodded, absorbing this. "Thanks."

The CSI watched her withdraw at the mention of the shooting and cursed himself. Maybe he should have waited a little longer. Her emotional state was still a fragile one. Although she surprised him with her next question.

"Is the scene cleared? Am I able to go back to my cafe now?" she asked.

"You are _not_ going back to work so soon."

"Not to work," she replied in a bland tone. "I…I need to go back there. It's the only thing I've thought about since I truly woke up."

Mac understood then. "Technically, no. But if Flack and I go with you, I can't see why not. I can supervise the re-entering of a fresh scene," he informed her in a softer tone. "When are you getting discharged?"

"The nurse said in an hour."

Mac nodded, lapsing into silence. He had expected this. Like a knife that had dulled, the glowing embers of a flame that was just about to go out, Savannah's brightness and liveliness had been snatched away. She was usually colour. Now, she was faded, grey, paling into the background. It was then he knew that Don was going to have a hell of a time trying to nurture her through her inner struggles.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Surer of anything since the decision to pull the trigger."

Don Flack frowned. He thought it was a bad idea. But then again, it was the most decisive, most alive Savannah had been. It was the one goal she had set and he was loath to take it away from her. Her eyes were that still same shade of grey and she wouldn't exactly meet his eyes. She was talking, but in sporadic, non-specific sentences that left him worrying about what was going on in her mind.

"You think it's going to help you?" he asked as he followed the familiar roads on their way to the Comfort Cafe.

Savannah bit her lower lip, fighting back emotion. She didn't know. It was just a fleeting hope. A 'maybe'. A 'perhaps'. "I think it's going to show me where I'm going from here," she finally replied slowly.

Don didn't know what to say. He had that little niggling feeling that she was going to do something stupid. When she would do it or what she would do, he didn't know. But a little bud of panic stuck around behind his ribcage, trapped there and ready to burst once something else happened. He felt like wrapping her in bubble wrap, and then bulletproof, and hiding her away in his apartment for a month or two.

It would at least keep his acid reflux down.

Huffing through his nose, Don knew that if he even suggested something akin to that, Savannah would freak. She valued her right to choice and freedom. It warred against his protective streak – all he wanted to do right at this second was take her home and hold her close.

Don also knew that his patience was wearing thin. He hadn't had his own 'freak out' yet. He was just as affected as Savannah was in feeling that heart-stopping moment when the call had come through about the shooting. He thought that he had lost another person that he deeply cared about. In one way, he did. A piece of her innocence lost forever.

They slowly passed by the cafe front on their way to the side alley to park, followed by Mac. In the gloom of the twilight, it did not look the welcoming, friendly place it once was. Savannah physically recoiled, a look of horror passing over her face. Cautiously, Don murmured, "You don't have to do this. You have nothing to prove to me or to anyone else going back in there."

"It's not about that," she whispered shakily. "It's about…I just need to go back in there."

Resistance was futile against her pleading face. Grimly nodding, Flack parked the car and hopped out, going around to her side of the car. He helped her out, supporting her with an arm under her shoulders. Savannah leaned against him gratefully as Mac joined them in entering through the back door. She was fine entering the kitchen. It had been untouched by the destruction, silver and gleaming benches still littered with a few foodstuffs left from Grant and Lionel rushing the cooks out. Savannah went to the food and threw it all out, sadly taking in the half-made sandwiches and the pot of spicy chicken soup she and Jacks had been working on improving. It had been stewing the whole time. Bread was mouldy and ham smelt off.

She was trying to put up a good front, but both men, silently watching her, saw the cracks in the foundation. With everything she either put away or threw out her face scrunched up as if she was going to launch into sobs. Flack caught on to what she was doing quicker, grabbing a broom and sweeping up some of the cafe debris in the kitchen, making it clean again. When he was sweeping it up with a dustpan, he realised what Savannah was doing.

Cleansing.

She was ridding this place of the remaining evil in the only way her subconscious would allow.

So he would help.

Savannah felt herself get lost in the motions. She cleaned out the dirty pans and trays, wiped down the benches, checked the cool-room for stock. And then, when she was satisfied that the kitchen was presentable, she turned towards the door that exited into the outer cafe area. Tears threatened once again as she stared at the swinging doors. She took a few shaky breaths, feeling Mac and Don come up behind her, each one placing a hand on her shoulders.

"I got to do this," she said, more to herself than to them, and pushed open the doors, hard.

Her imagination prepared her. She took a few, slow steps in, hugging herself as she realised that Crime Scene clean up hadn't done the best job in the world. Chairs were knocked over, a table or two as well. The blood from the victims had been cleaned up, but the outline and stain remained, pink against the pale linoleum. Her rosemary and thyme herb pots had been knocked off her bench, the plants limp and lifeless, dirt heaped beneath them. The picture of James Olger, her dead friend, had been shot, the glass cracked. Savannah shuddered. This was not her cafe. This was foreign to her. There was no warmth here. She felt as if the place had seen too much tragedy once more.

She left the men staring after her as she rushed forward, setting the tables and chairs right again, moving behind the counter to the cash register and placing the money in a bag, and then clearing up the mess from her herbs.

"What can we do?" Mac asked tentatively.

Savannah didn't seem to hear. She was too busy drowning her sorrows by cleaning everything that wasn't right.

The men looked at each other, and then decided to find something to do. Don kept close to Savannah, helping her with whatever she was doing, while Mac found a tub of cutlery and got to work on sorting it and polishing it with an abandoned tea towel. The work gave him an opportunity to observe the other two. Savannah went about everything in a daze it seemed, slight shudders wracking her frame every now and then and she would have to collect herself. Don would lightly touch her shoulder each time, to assure her he was there and she would nod. She moved with a desperation to get rid of the remnants of the memories of yesterday at noon.

Her dark curly hair hung in front of her face as she sunk to the floor to carefully pick up shards of a broken coffee cup. The pieces clinked softly together and she sucked in a breath, tears blurring her vision.

'_I'm like the cup,'_ Savannah thought. '_Broken…on the floor and in need of picking up.'_

When everything was cleared, she stared dully at the remaining stains on the floor. Without a word, she went into the back for a bucket, filling it up with bleach and grabbing a scrub brush. She got down on her knees, beginning to scrub madly at the faint pink stains, mocking her evilly with the reminder of what she had done to save her life. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, gasping with the effort, for who knows how long until that low, soothing voice murmured, "Savannah." Don gripped her wrist firmly, halting her movements.

She panted, realising that the outline of the bloodstain had diminished but there was still a mark on the floor.

"I think that's enough," the detective murmured firmly.

She shook her head. "I don't think anything will ever be enough to forget what I did."

"No, there's nothing. You can never forget. But you can forgive yourself for doing what no one should have to do," Don replied too calmly for what he felt inside. He took the brush and bucket away, intentionally ignoring that heart-wrenching expression on her face, lost, looking alone. He put it in the back and went back to her. As he passed Mac, the older man muttered, "You're doing good. She needs this."

Savannah rose lethargically, head bowed towards the ground like she was waiting for the hand of God to smite her where she stood. She allowed Don to wrap her in a warm, comforting embrace and direct her out the back door again. Mac followed them and was the only one to look back into the general area. It was mainly restored due to their efforts but the woeful atmosphere still remained. With a sigh, he closed the kitchen door. Things had changed.

* * *

"We're going to go to my apartment instead." Don put the subject forward mildly, open to negotiation, not wanting it to seem like an order.

"Oh…"

That was all she said. 'Oh.' Her mind seemed to be pre-occupied with something else. A few moments later, she whispered, "I'm going to change it."

"Change what?"

"The cafe," Savannah replied quietly, staring at the streetlights in fascination as they whizzed past the car window. "I'm going to re-paint the back wall. Instead of orange, I'm thinking a nice sky blue. And I'll re-paint the blue tables to a really nice dark green, but I'll keep the chairs white. The floor…" she stumbled over her words here, "that _will_ be changed. I'm going to rip up the lino. I think some sand coloured tiles will give it a nice feel. Don't you?"

Don shrugged. He honestly had no idea how that would look. He wasn't really into that interior design thing, so he noncommittally said, "Whatever makes you happy. The colours will still go together, I think."

"Yeah…yeah," Savannah muttered. She ran a hand through her hair. "I mean, it's something to _do._"

The blue eyes darted a glance at the brunette and then back to the road, musing on this. If remodelling the cafe was going to help her cope, he'd help her in his off time if need be. She still looked very…well, lost was the only word that really came to mind. She was searching for another post to lean on apart from him. "That place is going to be okay. _You_ are going to be okay," he reaffirmed positively.

"We can't know that for sure."

The words stunned him. "No, we can't, but what I said in that hospital is true. You're stuck with me. I'm not giving up on you, and you sure as hell better not give up on me," he replied.

Savannah pressed a hand to her eyes, making a choked sob. "I'm so screwed up," she whimpered in distress.

Don grimaced, wanting to protect her from the pain she was feeling. The scars on their hearts were evidence of how much they had both been through. Like her friends deaths, like her kidnapping, this would heal, given time. He had healed, given time. He was almost at his apartment building, so he didn't pull over. Instead he gently rubbed the back of her neck as Anna managed to keep her tears from falling once more.

When they got to the building, Don nearly had to carry her up she was leaning so heavily on him. He whispered hasty reassurances to her when she mumbled her apologies. She had done the same for him a few times after all.

The detective managed to settle her into bed, dressed in some old track-pants and one of his oversized t-shirts. She was forlorn, fiddling with the coverlet as he got ready for bed too. "How can you look at me?" she asked as he was about to slip in beside her.

"What do you mean?" The blue eyes narrowed on her, confused.

"After what I did…how can you look at me, knowing what I've done?" Savannah asked in a small voice.

A flash of realisation crossed Don's face and he slid in next to her, wrapping his arms tight around her, fierce. "I can look at you because you're fucking _alive!"_ he exclaimed. "If you're asking me that, I ask you the same question. How can you look at me, knowing I've taken many more lives than you? More than one in self defence. You're not the only one who has had to do that."

"That's different."

"How? Because I'm a proper cop?" he questioned quietly, but his tone was strong, determined to make her see how ridiculous this point was.

"Yes, because that's your job!" she mumbled back harshly. "My job was to make food and serve customers. Not act like a shitty Calamity Jane."

"You made the right decision."

"I know that logically, but it doesn't stop me from feeling like the worst person in the world," Savannah said sadly, resting her head forward on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat faintly and she nuzzled closer, aching to be closer to that life that thudded onwards. "It's a degrading feeling."

Don just crushed her tighter to him, pressing light kisses along the line where her forehead joined her dark tresses. He couldn't say anything more. He could talk until he was blue in the face trying to encourage her not to get down, but he had said what he needed to say. All he could do was prove by his actions that he was going to be here, be her rock until Anna was back on her feet.

"Tomorrow…do you want to go talk to one of the counsellors down at the precinct? They could help," he suggested.

Savannah was troubled. "I'll think about it," she finally replied after a few minutes of silent thought.

Knowing that was all the brunette was willing to concede, Don inclined his head and then closed his eyes. Sleep didn't reach them for a few hours, but when it did, it dragged them deep underneath.

Until Savannah woke up, staring at the ceiling. Reluctant, she knew what she had to do to heal herself – the inspiration, the answer, had come to her in her dreams. Expertly, she wriggled out of the bands of iron that were Don's arms, holding her like a fortress would and replaced the shape of her body with two pillows. She crept to her bag, dragging out her notebook. She wrote for half an hour under the soft lamplight – beads of wetness drawing a trail down her cheeks – and then, heavy hearted, she left the note on top of his gun and badge.

The air was humid, sticky, still gloomy and clouded. She stood out in front of Don's apartment building at 3am, waving down a taxi. As she climbed in, she took one last look back at the building, heart breaking painfully in two.

She needed to do this. But Savannah wished she didn't have to.

* * *

**A/N: Another hard one to write, but not as bad as the last one I think. How did you find this? Still believable? Let me know in your wonderful reviews. **


	23. Nothing but a Letter

**A/N: Such titillating reviews! EEEEE! Thanks to: JJ, Kayla, SomebodyWhoCares, CSINYNut, Leslie Emm, and Smuffly, you guys are great once more. I'm glad I cultured the curiosity about what's going on with Savannah. Read on my lovelies!**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing and angst.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 23 – Nothing but a Letter**

* * *

_I feel the beating of your heart  
I see the shadows of your face  
Just know that wherever you are  
Yeah I miss you  
And I wish you were here_

**Lifehouse – From Where You Are**

* * *

Don Flack mumbled as he woke, pressing his face into the soft, squidgy surface he leaned on…

Hang on...soft surface? That wasn't Savannah's skin. She wasn't _that_ soft.

Blue eyes snapped open, everything blurred sharpening into focus as he realised what his senses had been telling him. Savannah wasn't in his arms, pillows were. She wasn't even in his bed. He paused, listening out. For all he knew, she was hungry or felt like a shower or couldn't sleep and was watching the morning shows on TV. When he heard nothing except for the faint sound of NYC traffic, he bolted upright, calling, "Savannah?"

No sweet, melodic voice called back in reply.

Where the hell was she?!

A surge of fear rose up in him as his father's words from the hospital came back to him and he looked towards the sliding door to the balcony. It was a slight relief to see it was securely locked and closed. But where was she? She wouldn't keep quiet and play a sick game with him like this. It wasn't her style. Desperate to know she was okay, Don went to reach for his gun and badge just in case when he spotted a simple page of notepaper.

Oh. A note. That was Savannah's handwriting. Maybe she was just letting him know that she was going to a local bodega or something, or just going for a walk.

It was a hope that was soon dashed as soon as he began to read the letter.

* * *

_My dearest Don._

_Before I go further I want to tell you I love you. I love you so much that it hurts to do this. But I know if I tried to do the brave thing and tell you face to face that one look into your eyes and you'd change my mind. Even looking at you as I write this, sprawled out on your bed, unsuspecting, makes me hesitate. There's an ache in my heart because I know this will hurt you. But the urge to go is just so strong…_

_I do love you. _

_But don't come after me until I'm ready. _

_I ask you this one favour. I'm in my right mind, so I'm not going to do something stupid or kill myself. I'm distraught, not suicidal. I won't be gone long and I've taken my laptop and cell with me along with enough money and card. You can look up where I am, just don't come and find me. _

_Don…I need some time away. With all that's happened recently, I need a short break. There's been this crazy rollercoaster of events, up and down, up and down and just draining on the both of us. I feel so weary from the fact I haven't confided in you about my troubles. Holding it all in has taken its toll on me. And then…and then I took a life. In self defence yes, but I stole the breath from someone else's body. I took away someone's son. I have to live with it now. I know I'm technically innocent, but every time I close my eyes all the ghosts of my past are there, closing in. I am too proud and too stubborn to show you how much I'm hurt and how much I feel with this pain because I know I'll fall apart. Not yet. All I ask is a few days to feel me again. I need to know that I can do it alone. Because if I'm not enough without you…I'll never be enough with you._

_I know you're probably angry about the fact I haven't trusted you with this. I would be too. I realise it's hypocritical. It's been against we've ever talked about. It's exactly what we promised not to do after the Waverly situation and with me in the hospital (again). But I feel this is something I have to do regardless. I know that you know how this all feels. I promise we can talk about it and I will bare it all to you once I remember what it was like before your wonderfulness came into my world. _

_I know it'll be bittersweet to see me when I feel I'm ready. Because I'm acting so selfish. I realise this flaw. I am being very selfish right now. And I'm sorry. If the stars were apologies and I could pluck them from the sky, I would give them all to you. I'm sorry. Please, try not to worry about me. _

_I love you._

_Savannah_

* * *

"No," Don breathed in disbelief. "No, she can't do this to me."

Frantic now, he grabbed his phone, quickly selecting the special app that connected with the GPS tracker in Savannah's necklace he had specially built in it for this purpose. When it finally began to work, an error message flashed up.

Savannah was not in New York City, not in any of the boroughs.

With a cry of dismay, not willing to believe it, Flack rushed to get changed, grabbing his belongings and speeding to her apartment. He barely registered that he had driven to get there. It felt momentary until he was there, at her front door, jabbing his key into the lock and slamming the door open.

Her apartment was dark.

He gasped, feeling his heartbeat speed up in his ears, heavy and pounding like a drum.

Instantly, he knew what the letter had scribed was true. She was gone. Her handbag was gone from its hook, her cloth duffel bag that she usually used for their rare day trips to the beach was not in her closet, and when he checked her desk, her laptop was gone. Stunned, he wandered, jaw dropped, into her bedroom. He opened up her wardrobe and saw that a few of her favourite outfits were missing, along with a few pairs of shoes: some sandals and her Converse sneakers. He dropped onto her bed, muttering despondently, "Shit. No…no…this isn't happening."

But it was.

And Don knew it.

Frustration, despair, confusion, and sadness hit him with a quadruple whammy. He placed his head in his hands, hissing through his teeth and muttering, "What the heck does that woman think she's doing to me?"

His stress levels went through the roof.

Regardless of what she had said in the letter, Savannah was _not_ in her right mind. She had gone through something very drastic and it wasn't something you got over in a few days. Causing the death of someone else was hard hitting and you carried it with you – Don knew that well. As much as he wanted to accept the fact that she just needed some time to herself, his father's words and her uncharacteristic mannerisms since the shooting haunted him. He reached for the letter he had hastily stuffed in his pocket and re-read it once more.

It gave him no comfort to know that she was sorry.

Not at this moment. Not when he felt betrayed by this sneaky plan to slip away when he was unaware. It was like she didn't trust him enough.

Snarling, he pounded his fist into the plush bedding repeatedly, a poor excuse for a punching bag for his frustrations.

Impulse made him peruse Anna's written words one last time. The answers as to 'why' were clearly written out, as plain as day. Stubbornly, he put it back in his pocket. Why did she need to go away? Of course she was enough without him already, what the hell was she talking about? Don slammed a fist into the bedspread once more. He took deep breaths, calming himself. It would do no good to run to the precinct and track her down through card purchases and then chase after her. If he caught up with her, he knew it would push her away. That much was certain.

With a frustrated sigh, he flopped back on the green coverlet of Savannah's bed, a bed he was intimately familiar with. He could still smell the slight scent of watermelon-y perfume she wore on special occasions and the constant smell of baking from her work in the cafe. It lingered, a cruel jeer of the fact the person who possessed it was gone, who knows where by now. He turned to the side absentmindedly, and noticed that the drawer to her bedside table was partially opened.

There might be a clue there.

He rolled over and reached for the handle, opening it fully and peering in. There were a few scrap pieces of paper, pens, and a little pot of lip balm. Don remembered that Savannah had a dark red leather bound journal she occasionally wrote in. That must be what was missing.

The scraps of paper were curious. He reached for them and recognised her handwriting instantly. He scanned them and realised that it was poetry. Poetry Savannah had written. The first one was called "Blue."

* * *

_Blue is his eyes  
__Blue as the sky  
__Blue is his face  
__When death won the race_

_Such a sad face  
__Clear soulful set  
__Sorrow so deep  
__When love fell asleep_

_Lost in his blue  
__I fell for him  
__To heal his heart  
__Give him a new start_

* * *

It was about him. Don suddenly felt humbled by this. It was something soothing in the chaos that had been dropped in his lap. The date scrawled at the foot of the poem stated 03/06/10. They had only met two months previous to that date. He hadn't even taken her sightseeing by then, which had happened about a week later. He moved onto the next ones. They were all short...called a haiku if he remembered rightly.

* * *

_Pain_

_It creeps up on you_

_Destroying each, every thought_

_Dragging me in doubt_

_Death_

_They left us behind_

_Dragging me in black sorrow_

_I miss them so much_

* * *

There was one last one, simply titled _'Love.'_

_I was afraid to love again  
__Thought I would never find a friend  
__Who could be something more  
__Someone I would adore  
__With all of my heart and soul_

_There was a thunder in my heart  
__A spark, a jump start  
__Could this be, finally?  
__Someone who was meant for me  
__To love for all time_

_Caught by his hidden, beautiful soul  
__His smile, I wanted to make whole  
__He made me laugh  
__Became my other half  
__Made me believe _

_I took that leap and didn't look back  
__Once I met that cheeky Don Flack  
__He understands  
__Holds my heart in his hands  
__Love, pure and simple. _

* * *

Flack read them again just to absorb it all. She had written poetry about him. And these had been papers that had fallen out of her journal. What else did she have tucked away in there? Reverently, he tucked them in his pocket beside the letter. He was mixed up now. While he was still upset that she had just left, leaving behind a simple _letter_ of all things, the poems reminded him of her dedication.

Unsure, he left the apartment after that. There was nothing else that he could do – he couldn't chase after Savannah and he couldn't wallow in disappointment and heartache. There was nothing he could act on, apart from work.

* * *

As much as going into work had helped to ease some tensions by going after some bullies, drug dealers and pimps, Flack had frustration boiling away underneath the surface. He was short with everyone, and the rumour was circulated not to play any funny business on Flack today.

It was mid-afternoon when he got a visitor at the precinct.

He was writing so hard on his reports that the ink from his pen bled through to the page underneath when a raspy, amused voice remarked, "Stop abusing that poor paper, young man. I'm sure it's done nothing to you."

Flack looked up to see an officer standing next to Aunt Emilie.

He then glanced down at the report, grimacing as he noticed his slightly messy penmanship. He placed his pen down and returned his gaze to her. "What can I do for you Emilie?"

"Take a 10 minute break. I want to talk to you," she replied.

He canted his head to the side. "What about?"

"My niece flying the coop," Emilie expanded.

Flack's face hardened. He had just put it out of his mind and now Emilie was dragging it up again. "Fine. Whatever."

After letting his CO know what he was doing, he led Emilie out of the precinct, keeping his manners about him and buying her a coffee for her as well as himself from a nearby vendor as they walked through downtown. When they found a free bench, they sat down, sipping their coffees. Emilie was the first to break the tension.

"This is all she knows, you know."

"What, Savannah?"

"It's all she knows," the old woman repeated.

"Hurting people? That's all she knows?" Flack bit back acerbically.

Emile shot him a glare. "If you were my son I'd smack the back of your head for that. No...all Savannah knows is to run away to help solve her problems."

Looking away, the taller man rebelliously mumbled, "Whatever."

She rolled her eyes and tapped his hand so he would look at her. "I'd like to talk to your face, not the air. Let me explain it better. For all of her life, whenever something devastating has happened, Savannah has run away from the problem. It's a pattern. When she was six and her father died, Evangeline spirited her away to Hampton within three months of his death. She ran from the memories there – not by her own choice, but by her mother's. When she lost Evangeline, she ran away in a different fashion. She threw herself into her work, her first cafe, focussing on making it successful and keeping away the pain of losing the only person she ever depended on in her life. When Amanda and James were murdered, she came here to New York to escape the negative emotions from Hampton." She paused, letting it sink in for Don. "I was actually surprised she didn't run after her kidnapping, but then I figured it out. She has a tether keeping her here. You. The situation with that redheaded devil woman was another way of fleeing, but this time Anna fled from help and expressing her problems. And then this happens, another occasion that was not her fault but revolves around her. In her mind, there was no choice but to run, at least for a few days."

"And how is this supposed to help me?" Flack asked.

"Be patient. My niece is going to stick by her words, I know. If she wasn't going to come back, she wouldn't have said that she was sorry in her letter to Jacks and I that she slipped under the door," Emilie replied calmly, a knowing expression passing over her weathered features.

Flack sighed, crumpling up his empty coffee cup. "It's hard to believe that when I can still feel the sting."

"You wouldn't be a human, wouldn't be a man who loves a woman if you weren't upset. Hell, I know it's a bonehead thing for Chere to do, but, she's doing it because she won't be content with herself if she doesn't. Savannah would be twitchy and nervous as a squirrel on sugar if she had stayed in New York to sort out her emotions. She feels that relying on us will make her less of a person," the wizened woman said.

"Even though I've told her a million times it doesn't make her less of a person?"

"Don...if she hadn't been stuck between a rock and a hard place and had to kill someone, I'm sure she would have turned to you immediately especially with how you've gotten on since that Waverly she-devil. But this...this she needs to be alone for." Emilie rose from the seat, standing in front of the dull-eyed man who was busy staring at his hands. "Believe in her. From the moment Savannah introduced me to you, I know you'd go through struggles. The both of you. But I know this as well. You both get through this...you'll be together forever."

And without waiting for a response, she shuffled away, calling in her rasping, crotchety voice for a taxi, leaving Flack on the bench to ponder.

* * *

"What do you mean she's gone? Why didn't you tell us this before?"

Flack crossed his arms. "Can we get back to the stinky dead body in the room please?"

"He's dead, he can wait a few minutes, surely," Jo quipped back.

They were at a scene in TriBeCa, a young man who had clearly dropped dead for no apparent reason in a corner deli laid out in between Jo and Flack. Lindsay was there too, eavesdropping while dusting for prints at the counter.

"I don't even know where Anna's gone. Just that she needs a few days away to cope with things. She just left me a note, so don't ask me. You want to know where she is? Call her. Maybe you can get through to her, because I can't," he retorted gruffly.

Jo's eyes narrowed sharply on his frame. "You're pissed."

"Gee Dr. Phil, that took you longer than normal."

"Flack, I hate to say this, but get over yourself and give her a little space. Yes, it sucks she's just left without so much as a goodbye, but trim down your ego for one second-"

"Oh, so this is ego, not pain?" Flack asked sarcastically.

"Of course it's pain," Jo placated, entreating him to listen. "But the way you're acting, it's like she's run off for a holiday, not some self given therapy. Look, did she tell you what she took with her?"

He replied, "Phone, laptop, cash, card, and journal."

"That right there tells me that she's operating under enough good sense that she's trying to make herself better," the CSI pointed out. "If she didn't care about what other people felt about any of this, she would have just taken cash and disappeared into obscurity for God knows how long until we put an APB out on her."

"Jo, as much as I appreciate you trying to make me understand, I've already gotten a talk from her Aunt, so this makes me feel like I'm being disciplined by the nuns in junior school again," Flack said in a tone of steel.

Jo took it in stride. "Okay. Fine, I can respect that. But I just wanted to say how I think you're acting about it."

Don held back the urge to roll his eyes. He really would look like a petulant schoolboy then. "Cool. I've heard your side. Now...back to the victim please?"

When Jo nodded, it was a relief for the detective. He wanted to take his mind off of his AWOL girlfriend.

* * *

**A/N: ...so...what did you think of this? Also, I'm very proud of that letter, and I hope you can see both sides of the story here. Next up: Don's POV. **

**Reviews are wonderful and appreciated. **


	24. Bar with the Boys

**A/N: Kayla, SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, CSINYNut, Leslie Emm and JJ, you guys always make me grin with your delightful reviews. To those who continue to read and favourite/alert this fic, thanks to you too! Enjoy this next chapter. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, and angst.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 24 – Bar with the Boys**

* * *

_Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door  
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before  
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  
For me it happens all the time_

**Lady Antebellum – Need You Now**

* * *

**Don POV**

How the fuck can this happen to me?

She's been gone only a day and it's like she's been gone a whole year. I've hidden it really well when I'm at the precinct, but Mac and Jo know – so when I was at scenes with them today, they kept giving me these looks to check on me, make sure I wasn't going to explode on them at any moment.

Yeah, well, unfortunately for them, I kept that private show at the gym, beating up a punching bag so hard it nearly swung off the rack above. I went at about 4am this morning because I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, and I was two seconds away from tearing my place apart in my anger. So I went to the gym. Let me tell you, once I started on the punching bag, anyone that was there suddenly found other places they needed to be. When I was alone, only then did I growl and grunt out my frustration with each slam of my fists into the bag.

I exhausted myself doing that, and my hands were sore for the rest of the day but it helped. It means I didn't go into full on freak out mode. Not that I think I can go into full freak out mode right now. I think it's pointless. It's just the same emotions getting dredged up again and again and I'm sick of it.

It also means I could focus on my cases. Towards the end of the day, my frustration crept up again, so I made a plan.

I needed something to distract me, so I sent out a text to Graham, Mac, Danny and Adam.

Yeah, Adam. The kid is hilarious when he wants to be. That, and I'm hoping he or Mac can be my designated driver so I can get shitfaced. Danny and Graham I hope are going to keep up with me. I'm talking whiskey and beers all night so that it numbs everything. Just for tonight. I've learnt my lesson not to rely on a toke or fifteen to get me by through the hard things. Just tonight, and then nothing else.

Besides, I haven't been out with the guys for a while because of, well, life. Oh, and shit happening.

I'm the first one to Sullivan's and secure a table near the bar so we can still shoot the shit while ordering another round. I don't want to start yet. I'm waiting for the others so they can keep me in check if I go off the rails a bit.

It's 8.30, so everyone is off shift right now and apart from Graham and I, they're all on second call. So it should be an all right night.

…crap, I read those poems Savannah wrote and I'm suddenly turning into a poet!

I left them on the dining table. I read them last night after I finished shift then. It still kills me that she writes so passionately about me, about us and everything she feels, and then she feels that she has to run away.

Huh. Men and women.

"Ah, there's that ugly mug," Danny teases as he struts to the table, grinning. "Ready to act like the semi-responsible 21 year olds? My bambina and lovely wife are all tucked away so I'm all good."

See, that right there is why Danny is one of my best friends. "More than ready," I reply with a crooked smirk.

"Who we waiting on?"

"Graham, he's tucking his boy in bed, Mac and Adam."

"What about either Doc?"

"Sid's having dinner with his daughters tonight and Hawkes is on shift to make up for a sick day last week," I replied.

"Eh, pity. Coulda been a real party then," Danny shrugged, taking his jacket off and sitting opposite me. "Okay, what's off topic for tonight? Just so I don't open my big mouth and make you go mope in a corner…at least, while I'm sober."

"I'm already moping in a corner! As for off topic…nothing about the shootings. I don't want to discuss work. I want to discuss silly crap we've done, you know? The funny things." I know that with this bunch, that's exactly what I'll get. We've come from pretty different places in our lives which makes bar meetings interesting. "I don't want to think," I confess openly.

Danny claps his hands together and rubs them like he's hatching an evil plan. "Excellent."

"That was the worst impression of that guy from the Simpsons."

"I thought you wanted to see silly shit?"

"Touché," I reply with a grin, Danny matching it.

Soon enough, the rest of the gang arrive – although Adam looks like a fish out of water, oh well – and it's established that Mac will be designated driver tonight. Graham says he'll just take a taxi. And so it begins with a round of beers and discussing the small stuff like the latest baseball and basketball scores, easing us in. I order a whiskey, Danny and Adam join me, although I think everyone's favourite lab tech is doing it to loosen up more than actually wanting one. He gives me a quick laugh when he sculls it and it goes down the wrong pipe, causing him to cough and splutter with a red face. Danny slaps him on the back and Mac and Graham hide their smirks.

Poor kid. His usual meetings with his more geeky friends are not like this – I know 'cause he mentioned something about it once. But I admire his spirit (hahah!) in giving the stronger alcohol a whirl. Adam recovers with thumbs up and quick bashful grin. At least he didn't retreat into his shell.

After that shot and another beer, I start to feel less tense and more relaxed.

And then it begins.

It's Graham, chuckling at something Danny's said and asks, "Okay, how about this…you know how we get dead bodies in weird places? Like on awnings, on top of the Statue of Liberty and hanging upside-down from fans. What about sex in weird places. Where's the weirdest place you've ever boned someone?"

"Weird how? Like 'what the hell?' weird or weird as in non-conventional?" Adam asked to clarify.

"Either," Danny adds.

Mac, in his usual reserved manner, nonchalantly replies, "Airport carpark."

We all stare at him in astonishment. "Bonus points for semi public," I quip, laughing. Only Mac could whip out something like that.

"In a kids bouncy castle," Graham chipped in with a stupid drunk grin. "My son's 5th birthday. After the kids had all gone and everything else had packed up…well, one thing led to another and it's surprisingly good…as long as you don't go too hard."

"My childhood is forever ruined," Adam muttered, sipping on his beer.

"On my pool table," Danny shrugs as everyone exchanged raised eyebrows, but I knew that already. He confessed it another drunken night ages ago. I might as well add my own two cents in.

"The 'love boat' ride at Coney island," I say. I get applause from Danny while Graham, looking interested, asked, "How?"

"Well you see, when a hormonal guy and a hormonal chick like each other very much…" I drawl, making him playfully punch my arm. We all turn to the only one who hasn't admitted to anything yet. Ross blushes as we stare at him to get him to reveal the weirdest place he's done the deed. The blush gets redder as Danny pokes him insistently.

He then murmurs in a bashful tone, "The weirdest was also my first. In my university DNA lab."

"Lab tech all the way through, huh Ross?" Graham teases.

"I'm sure he added nicely to the lab collection," I add with a quick wink at the kid to assure him we're playing.

"Let's hope you don't get that idea for the Crime Lab," Mac says with a smirk.

"Then he'd have to be an exhibitionist too because the walls are made of glass," Danny jokes.

Adam blushes but he grins too. "What about you guys? First times?"

"In my car," I pipe up first. It was awesome at the time, but looking back on that prom night now, that was honestly the _worst_ sex of my entire life: fumbling, awkward, and messy.

"Ditto," Danny said.

"In my bedroom like a normal person," the eldest CSI remarked wryly.

"On the couch in the living room. But the worst thing about it was that, there I was, having a really awesome time figuring out how everything worked, when my older sister came home a few days early from college and found me and my girlfriend butt naked on that couch. We got rid of it the next day," Graham informs us with a certain relish, like it's the funniest thing he's ever done. I suppose it is, he's not really the type of guy to go crazy.

We talk more about the guy stuff like that, all the while I order my third beer and my second shot of whiskey.

It's fan-fucking-tastic. The burn of the spirit followed by the refreshing beer as I eventually smirk and laugh along with the guys. It's like the past week hasn't even happened and that's all good.

I'm three sheets to the wind before long so it's not surprising I shed a few inhibitions along the way. Danny and I start singing that song by some band with a ridiculous name like Chumby…wooma? Chumby-something, all I know is the lyrics which he and I have belted out (horribly) on many a (silly drunk) occasion: '_I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never going to get me down!'_ It's been such a bar anthem in Sullivan's that it's weird not to hear some sloshed guy muttering it under his breath every night. It's almost midnight and I can't feel much. The room spins slightly when I move my head and Danny and I are crackin' the best jokes. Sad thing about that is that in the morning I won't remember half of them.

Adam gets up to go chat to some girl he knows on the dance floor, and Graham is just watching in amusement. Mac is talking about Chicago and I'm lost in the 'guys night,' chuckling along and basically, having as good as I time as I can.

I don't know how much time passes until Mac and Danny help me stumble to the car. I feel light and heavy at the same time. Funny, huh?

Danny is just as far gone as me. "Aye Donnie boy, those girls we love cause us the biggest headaches eh?"

"Tá a fhios agam ceart?" I reply drunkenly.

"English, bro, English. I don't go speakin' some funky Italiano when I'm drunk," Danny scolds me, but with this massive smile.

"Oh…didn't I just speak English? I said 'I know, right?'" I tap my head and mutter, "Crossed language wires up in here."

"_Car gon' make me lose my mind, up in here, up in here,"_ Danny attempts to rap. I shove him and laugh, "Dude, that's not even the real words! And you can't rap anymore than I can."

"Children," Mac admonishes lightly, staring bemusedly at the two of us in the rear-view mirror. "No shoving in my car."

"But yeah, them girls, they drive us fucking nuts, eh, draggin' our hearts this way and that until we're inside out, loopedy looped and in knots. Worth it…I think it's worth it," I ramble, half-knowing what I'm spouting from my loosened lips.

Next thing I know, I'm in the elevator to my apartment, propped up by Mac and Danny once more. I can't remember how many I've had, but I know that my liver isn't going to like me. Neither is my head tomorrow morning. I mean, this morning, but much, much later. Mac's hand guides my hand with the key into my lock. They shove me inside, Mac chuckling and Danny waving and grinning like a loon. "Have a nice night Don!" they call before leaving me in my dark apartment.

"Bye," I mumble in reply.

I switch on the lights, and then wish I hadn't.

On the wall near my table is the collage Sam made for me. I hung it up the day I got it, but looking at it now, the first thing I see is me with Savannah.

And the reminder she's gone comes crashing back down.

Fuck.

There's no better way to sober me up than that.

She should be here with me and I should be helping her through the crap, helping reassure her that I love her and that what she did is okay. When I found out she was alive after hearing those gunshots, I was about ready to kiss the pavement before I rushed in there! I don't think I would have coped if I had lost another woman I loved. Nah, not me. I'm a tough guy most of the time, but when it comes to Savannah, I'm mush, I'm putty in her hands and damnit, I'll do anything for her.

My apartment feels just a touch more cold and emptier without Savannah in it.

"Aw hell," I swear, dropping down onto my couch. The place swims in front of my eyes before it rights itself. Being drunk and reminiscing is never fun. Especially when missing people comes into it.

If I tilt my head just enough, I can see the pictures of us on the canvas from my position.

God, she's beautiful.

Her smile is freaking gorgeous and when she smiles at me…it's like, yes, this is what I want to look at for the rest of my life, every morning, every day. I like playing with the ends of her curls. No, not like, love. I love how soft her hair is, and how they're nice, loose curls, not those crazy ringlets like what Stella had. I love her eyes and how they seem to change depending on her moods. I love her laugh, it's sexy. I love it when she sings, when she dances…once I went into her apartment so we could share a pizza and a movie and she was cleaning up, stereo blasting as she danced around, dusting. I just watched until she was done, because she had been so joyous.

All those little things about Savannah were special.

Oh, and when that fire sparks, whether she's being competitive…

Sheldon and Sid are into tennis and they needed someone to play against them, so once Anna and I gave it a go and played a game of tennis with them. She made up for her lack of experience with cursing and determination to, and I quote, 'get that fuzzy green bauble' over the net. I almost couldn't play I was cracking up into fits of laughter.

She makes me laugh with the simplest things sometimes. I think her swearing is the cutest thing when it's not directed at me. It's when she accidentally picks up my deodorant instead of her own in the mornings when she stays over and uses that – ending up smelling like me. And I like it, it's like she kinda marked herself as mine. Another thing which drives me crazy but I strangely like is when Savannah leaves her hairbrush with the loose hairs in it on the basin. It's a bit messy, but when I nag her about it, it leads to some pretty funny debating. It's when she's not even trying that she appeals to me. I have the urge to jump her when she's wearing sleep shorts and one of my shirts when she's reading and forgot a clean change of sleepwear. Always. She gets this look of concentration and she's stretched out on the couch or a bed depending on whose apartment we're at. And then as soon as that happens, I just…yeah, want to act out every single fantasy and not want to lose contact with her even for a second.

I miss her.

And I can't be angry anymore that she ran away to deal with things. If she comes back, willing to let me help her, all the better. Savannah is one of those people that sometimes you've got to let her do things her way so that you can work things out when she's ready. It hurts still, because she's such a big part of my life. You can't go through the shit we've been through and not be a big part of each other's lives. I know that being upset about this isn't going to help, being rational about it is.

Doesn't mean I'm not going to talk about how I felt. Fuck, when I woke up that morning, I felt like someone had brutally reached in, grabbed my heart, and crushed it.

I can suddenly feel something vibrating against my leg.

Wha-? Oh…my phone.

Who the hell would be texting me this friggin' early in the morning?

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

I don't know how open you are to me right now. But, if you're still worried about me, I'll be emailing you about my days starting from tomorrow. Just so that you can see I'm okay.

* * *

Savannah and that instinct. What un-fucking-believable timing for her to send that text. I can barely make out the words as they're a bit fuzzy in front of my eyes, but I get the gist. She's opening up. Thank God for that! At least she's writing about it, if she can't be here. I mean, yeah, it sucks that I have to read it off a stupid electronic screen to see how my girlfriend is doing. But it's something.

I'd rather something than nothing.

With a groan, I manage to somehow get upright without tripping over my coffee table and make my way to bed.

I actually have something to look forward to tomorrow.

And that, I think, is the only reason I can get any sleep.

* * *

**A/N: I hope it felt a bit rambling towards the end there. He's drunk! Of course he'd ramble XD. Yes, this is a bit shorter, but I couldn't really add anything else to this without sounding like a broken record. **


	25. Fleeing Comfort

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took me a while to update. I kinda had a birthday in the past few days with a generous sprinkling of family issues…Anyway, thanks to JJ, Kayla, Leslie Emm, SomebodyWhoCares, and Smuffly for the great reviews on Don's POV in the last chapter. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: Swearing and angst.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 25 – Fleeing Comfort**

* * *

_Cos everyone's waiting  
But it's getting harder to hear  
What my heart keeps saying  
Turn it off, I wanna turn it all off_

**Missy Higgins – Everyone's Waiting**

* * *

**Savannah POV**

I have to be careful not to speed as I leave New York behind me, twinkling brightly in my rear-view mirror. It would ruin everything if I got caught for speeding. Something else I don't need.

I'm so torn already, that would be another stressor.

It's funny, everyone is so skeptical when another person says they're torn about a decision. It's like 'yeah right, how can you be torn? It's just a choice you have to make, surely there's a right path.' No such thing right now. I'm torn. Torn straight in two, a perfect half on either side of the line – between emotion and logic, instinct pulling me two different ways. Every mile that I travel my heart longs to be back in Don's bed, snuggling into the warmth and security I yearn for.

And yet, at the same time, another part of me knows that this is the right decision. I have to leave for a few days to take a good, hard look at myself. I have to be able to live with myself after shooting someone else in self defence.

I can just imagine what would happen if I stayed with Don. He'd be the most amazing man to me, making sure I'm getting on alright. But I fear – and it scares me only half as much as thinking I was going to die a few days ago – that if I depend on him to prop me up with this issue that I'll end up being too dependent on him in time. And then he won't try and challenge me to get me to do things and I'll be satisfied in trying to find myself and end up being a completely different person than what I am.

Irrational? Slightly. Do I need to get away? Definitely.

Oh damn, here come the tears again.

So I don't cause a crash, I quickly and safely pull over as they overwhelm me again. I'm resolutely pulled forwards and backwards. Between love and peace, and how does a person chose between which one they want to fulfil more?

I know the flip side to this. What if I end up healing myself and I come home and Don breaks up with me?

That would render me asunder further.

"You gotta go, Savannah," I say to myself, wiping away the tears. I take a deep breath and keep driving. I've left a note for Aunt Emilie and Jacks explaining what I'm doing and asking that they pardon my flight – and the fact I've taken the car. Being my family, I'm hoping they'll be more understanding than most. I can only hope this isn't going to backfire on me.

I don't have a clear idea of where I'm going. All I know is that I'm heading north and I intend to find a place that has a lot of nature.

* * *

It was mid-morning by the time I finally found a place that I could find myself getting in touch with myself and coping with what I've done.

It's called the Rose and Thistle B&B. I'm in Connecticut somewhere, I don't know. I think I saw a sign somewhere announcing a town starting with 'B.' I chose this place because of the surroundings. The place is on the edge of a secluded valley: Beautiful, sprawling gardens, and there's a waterfall, a small one, not far from here open to the public during the day. It's a quaint, peaceful place. I almost didn't get a room because of the dark rings around my eyes and my fatigued features. The manager of the place took my bank card and suspiciously looked at it, asking, "You're not on the run from the police are you? You have that look…"

"No sir. I'm on the run from sadness," I informed him respectfully, giving him a small smile.

I think the smile changed everything, for he nodded and beckoned to a young woman standing off to the side. "Hazel, take our new guest Ms. Cormier to the Moonlight Room," the manager instructed.

I eagerly followed Hazel to my room, dragging my duffel bag with belongings behind me. Now that I was here, I felt the all consuming need to sleep.

The young woman opened the door to a large, clean room, perfect for spending up to a week in. I instantly knew this was the right place to stop. It was calming with light blues and whites and I knew that I'd be able to get my thoughts organised here. I thanked Hazel and turned to the bed. I crawled on it, flopping down. My last thought before I slept was of Don, most likely already having found my letter.

* * *

Dusk is beautiful here.

I don't feel trapped or enclosed, like the world is pressuring me. I really feel like I've just travelled halfway across the world to get away from New York when I've only hopped one state away and not that far either. It's almost summer but the refreshing burst of spring is still in the air here. From my window I see the young woman, Hazel, and an older lady (must be her mother for they looked alike) tending to the bright, beautiful gardens. It's so tempting, just to go out there and lay next to them.

But I deny myself.

Why?

I need to work through what I feel first. If I don't, I'll just tamp it all down below a false face of happiness and laughter. And then this trip, this risk, will all be for nothing. I _need_ to sort myself out. I feel so…burdened by what I've done.

To put it shortly, I feel like a leper.

No matter how much Don, or Jacks, or anyone tells me that what I did needed to be done – one of those terrible things that needed to be done – it still feels so wrong to me. I'm an alien in my own body. I feel like anyone who looks at me can tell that I've taken away someone's life.

It makes me wonder, the murderers, the coldblooded ones, the serials…how do they handle it? This slash across their lives, this complete darkening of their hearts…or am I just unusually sensitive? Or do I just care so much about everyone and everything that I take it on so much and in the end it takes its toll on me? I know I can't be sad that I'm alive while the man, Grant, is dead. I was so relieved I have another day with my family, with my friends, with my love, and I still am. The other side is that there is possibly someone out there weeping over Grant.

My detective friends might scoff at that. Whether it's true or not, it doesn't matter.

I took his life to save my own, and I have to make peace with that. I can't do that in New York. As much as Don loves me and cares about me, I think he'd be overprotective to the point where I wouldn't be able to find my absolution. I'd have advice thrown at me in so many directions from everyone my head would spin. I can't have advice. I need to listen to my heart.

I move to the bed, pulling my notebook from my bag and a pen.

The inkball is poised, ready for me to move it.

Where do I begin?

I wait a few moments, and then I write '_I am lucky to be alive.'_ It's the laying of a foundation. Something solid. I have to keep coming back to that point. I'm very lucky to be breathing still. Grant's bullet could have taken my life too. He could have started killing as soon as he entered my cafe and slaughtered not only Paula, but the rest of my staff and customers and I. It would be a horrible massacre. I'm lucky I even had a gun – if not for Don when he decided to get me gun licensed, I would have never had it.

The next heading: '_You saved others.' _Self explanatory.

'_I wish I had never been placed in that position.' _That is the crux of the matter. I _never_ should have to be in a position where the only choice is either me dead or my opponent dead.

It's sad how greed over a matter of drugs and money led to this.

The writing flows after that, sentences turn into paragraphs as I count my blessings and curse that I was unprepared for such emotional backlash.

In the moments after I shot the drug dealer, I hated myself with the heat of a thousand suns. I was the most, lowly, disgusting human ever. That passed, but I was scared with how strong it was. Is that how people who are suicidal feel just before they take that jump or hack their own skin open? If that's true, I feel even more empathy for anyone that feels like that. It's a tidal wave of black emotion. I'm still not comfortable with myself, but that's the purpose of me being here.

I pause and change direction in my writing.

I write about how terrified I was.

This was how scared I was after Wallace kidnapped me times ten at least. Not only did I have myself to worry about, but what about Jacks? What about my customers? Luckily, there had been no children on the day – that would have been even more tricky to handle! – but it's among the blessings I count that no kids were around. Would I have acted sooner if someone like Callum Brent or Lucy Messer (who I both adore) had been there? Numerous, rhetorical questions scribbled down between lines of my own stomach tightening in anxiety at the time. I was also so scared that if I died, the effect it would have on other people.

I was scared that Don would go over the edge.

He was so angry that I landed in the hospital after the Waverly fight. Not at me, but at the trouble I got into through no fault of my own. There's this little thread of fear behind the anger and the concern he expressed that he'll lose me. It's understandable. After all, his last girlfriend got gunned down. After the way we found each other and healed, I think losing me would hit him worse than anything else before – because we're so emotionally invested in each other. We're so connected on many levels and it's more than love. It's understanding of pain, it's respect, it's laughter and playfulness, it's desire as well. So many things I can't even describe. To have another life slip through his fingers would turn Don bitter and hard for a few years at the very least.

I would rather lose him than he lose me. I don't want him to ever go through the same pain he went through with Jess. Me? I'd break down, but I'd manage.

I always manage.

With a sigh, I write one final sentence on the third and final page of my ramblings, my method of purging:

'_I forgive myself for having to take his life, but no regret for saving myself.'_

If I remember that, I know each day it'll be easier to see myself as me…not an outsider.

The moonlight shines through the sheer curtains and highlights the teardrops on the notepaper. Drops I didn't even know fell. Tucking the book away, I gaze out the glass and over the scenery presented to me.

The temptation is too strong.

I wander out of the room, locking the door behind me, and kneel in the centre of the garden where all the flowerbeds meet. I'm sure I'm quite a sight! I've got on an old green shirt with a smiley face on it and jeans, my hair I threw into a careless, messy side plait to get it out of my eyes, and I don't think I've smiled truly for a few days. I must look crazy, just sitting here in the garden and staring at the flowers. Doing nothing but admiring their innocence.

About half an hour later, someone approaches me.

I notice it was the lady working in the garden earlier.

She tilts her head to the side. "Y'know, my husband, the manager of this place was uncertain about you. But one thing I've found is that those who visit the garden are just folks trying to figure things out."

Her point? No idea, so I tentatively ask, "Are you kicking me out of the garden?"

"No. Just saying that I recognise a searching soul when I see one – I'll make sure my husband doesn't pry, he can be overly suspicious. Stay out as long as you like…just be careful of the begonias, they are freshly planted," the woman replied.

I nod in reply and she leaves. It's nice of her to say that. I don't know many other people who are so accommodating.

I go back to my room not long after. I'm weary from the emotions I'm fluctuating between. I hug myself after eating a quick meal of a few muesli bars and an apple from the stocks I filled up on when I got into Connecticut. It's not much, but I'm not up to the effort of going out and finding something to eat or making something in the tiny kitchenette here. For the time I'm here, I don't want to cook.

It'd feel wrong somehow.

When I finally sleep, it's with tears as I realise that I've well and truly run away.

* * *

The next day is harder.

Nightmares visited me last night, pulling their chariots of fear and anger. I dreamed that I had died, a body in the many as the drug dealers went mad, murdering us all. And then, it changed. I acted in self-defence, I made the shot…only for Grant to morph into Jacks and causing me to kill her instead. I wouldn't wake from these, trapped in my imagination. The final one before I broke free is Don cynically laughing at me, fury etched on every line on his face as he rejects me, slamming a massive door in my face.

I woke early in the morning, around 4am, due to these terrors, sweating and shaking, tears dampening the pristine pillows. I went back to sleep but it wasn't for long. I was too tense.

What makes this morning worse is the environment beyond my room.

It's a bright, beautiful day outside, calling with sweet birdsong and yet I impose my own gloom on myself. I feel so unworthy of the joys of nature. All I want to do it cry quietly until my tears dry up and just stay under the covers.

Knowing I can't do that is what gets me up and to the Bed & Breakfast's little dining hall where the breakfast included in the room price is served. As soon as I step into the room, I can smell hot maple syrup. Pancakes. Oh, that's going to help in my effort to get in tune with myself – a nice homey breakfast to start the day. I greet the other people staying at the Rose and Thistle as cheerfully as I can given my mood.

I'm usually the one to sit next to strangers, engage them in conversation and bring out the best in them if I can.

Today, I sit far removed as Hazel brings me breakfast.

I check my phone, turning it on for just a few minutes to see how many calls I've gotten.

Oh.

Thirty missed calls and twenty messages.

Over half of those missed calls are from Don and the rest are either from Jacks or the CSI family, and one or two are from the insurance companies that handle my cafe. I can deal with all of those later. My finger hovers over Don's name. Do I call him, hear his voice and get pulled back to New York out of my own guilt? No. I can't.

I'll…I'll text him later. I don't think I'm strong enough right now to deal with the fallout of me leaving.

As I eat my food, I can't shake the feeling that the other people in the room are staring at me and know what I've done. It's a prickly feeling up my spine that won't be shaken. I finish the rest of the breakfast quickly and escape to the garden, slowing my anxious breathing and reminding myself of what I wrote last night.

It's so hard to come to terms with this.

How do I move on from this so that the weight of my conscience doesn't drag around behind me like the proverbial ball and chain?

"Do you have an answer for me?" I whisper to the flowers at my feet.

They merely sway in the breeze on their green filigree stalks.

I sigh and meander to my room, grabbing my bag. I might as well explore my surroundings if I can't find something immediate to quench the hurt and pain locked within me.

I have to admit…it's really picturesque here. Like time slowed and technology doesn't exist. Little stalls selling their homemade wares pop up on the side of the roads near the more modern shops, but even they seem to be stuck in time. There's nothing sleek and new about it, it's all homey, warm, if slightly rough around the edges. It's all a little bit romanticised, but pretty nonetheless. I stop at as many stalls as I can, marvelling over the fresh honey I found and a bracelet with the pendant of St. Christopher – the saint of safe travels – I bought off an old man who sat behind a chestnut tree with his wares.

While some stall owners aren't up to chatting with outsiders, there are the others who are comfortable talking to me, telling me about the local treasures like the wineries and the state forest as well as the best places to eat. I note down everything I'm told before heading back to the B&B in the afternoon. I'll discover the recommended places tomorrow.

As I pass the sign informing visitors about the waterfall, it piques my curiosity.

I'm here. I might as well take a quick look to see what it's like.

I take a detour down the path and then when I eventually get there, I'm breathless.

It's amazing.

It's not a big waterfall, maybe just over two storeys high, the water cascading down to a wide bay before it thins in the distance to a strip of a river. I watch from the pathway as someone jumps from a ledge splitting the water flow and into the water below. They surface, excitedly grinning.

The urge to do the same is just so strong. I watch as other people jump from the same ledge, a man in boardshorts and a shirt with a logo I can't make out from here on the pocket letting them know when it's safe to jump. It looks like a thrilling experience. One I want.

Maybe I can feel free.

Making the impulsive decision to just do it before I doubt myself, I turn and rush back to the B&B. I change into the old shorts and shirt I brought with me and head back to the waterfall.

As I come around, the man acting like a lifeguard sees me at the end of the line and says, "You're the last for today."

I nod at him, and suddenly it feels that much more special that I'll be the last person to jump off the top of the waterfall today.

Ten people take their time diving off the stony ledge, whooping and cheering with delight. I take it all in. The trees overhead, a shady canopy to this little slice of paradise, and the sun sinking slowly beyond the horizon, winking out at the turn of the new night. When it's finally my turn, the instructor murmurs, "Take your time. No rush. You are the last after all."

I stride forward to the edge of the rocky precipice, careful not to slip with the watery mist spraying up and wetting the rocks. I curl my toes to grip, taking deep breaths and staring down into the clear pool below. The wind picks up at that moment, tossing my hair about behind me. I raise my arms to either side of me and suddenly, everything fades. Everything but the beating of my heart, the wind carrying me, and the sound of the water thundering all around me. A wild laugh escapes me as I finally take a big push off from the outcrop.

I'm flying.

In those scant, precious seconds, I'm flying through the air, all my grief and anger, hate, loneliness and loss of direction whipped away by the wind rushing past me. I get into a safe position to enter the water, and take a deep breath of the fresh air. When I hit the water, it's like I'm being cleansed. The water is cool, wonderfully clear, and buoys my body towards the surface. It's soothing.

I needed that. I needed something different to pull me out of the rut of self-pity and misery. A jolt of adrenaline.

Swimming through the water to reach the bank so I can pull myself out, it's like the fluid is holding me up, giving me the strength, sustaining my flagging spirits so I can keep working through the conflict I'm going through.

When I return to the room and change, curling up on the bed, I write and write in my notebook, filling page after page of emotion and then, something new. Coping mechanisms. Things to look forward to each day now that I'm alive. Goals to set, things to do when I get back to New York. I don't pay any mind to my hungry stomach or to the time. While the motivation to write is there, I'll use it.

It's 1.15am in the morning when my fingers are finally exhausted enough that I can't note down anything else.

I stare at my phone lying next to the clock.

I promised myself I'd reopen communications up with Don so he doesn't come looking for me if he gets too worried about me. I know it's late, but…surely a text is better than nothing.

* * *

_Text to: Don_

_From: Savannah_

I don't know how open you are to me right now. But, if you're still worried about me, I'll be emailing you about my days starting from tomorrow. Just so that you can see I'm okay.

* * *

I turn my phone off after that. I still don't think I'm ready to actually talk to him and hear how he feels about me leaving. Because I know it'd be painful for the both of us. Until I return to New York, I need to eliminate any obstacles to having a free talk with Don.

* * *

**A/N: So…this is a bit all over the place too, but I felt like it was really needed as with the last chapter, because they're both a bit messed up by this. Reviews are always appreciated. **


	26. Email Exchange

**A/N: I've been so busy! But your reviews keep me going guys: SomebodyWhoCares, Leslie Emm, Kayla, Smuffly and JJ. I think some of you are going to really like this chapter. Oh, BTW, the song that inspired me in the lyrics section, I love it so much. Just sayin' :D**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** Swearing

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 26 – Email Exchange**

* * *

_Give me love or hate,  
You can bend me 'til I break  
Give me fire, give me rain,  
I want joy with my pain  
I want your fears, your hopes,  
The whole kaleidoscope_

**The Script - Kaleidoscope**

* * *

Email to: Don Flack 

Sent from: Savannah Cormier

RE: Reaching Out

Dear Don,

You didn't reply to my text, but I'm going to send the emails to you anyway because I think you'll appreciate it. If you don't want them, just tell me. I'll get the message.

So…where do I begin?

Sorry, once more, for leaving the way I did. It was spineless of me. It was. I can own that, it was cowardly of me.

Do I regret it? After being here for two days, I can confidently say no. I'm in Connecticut somewhere if you really must know. It's beautiful and leafy and green here, some of my favourite things. I know what you're probably thinking. I have my garden. I have Central Park. But this is different. It's not only my environment that's helping to calm me down, but what I've been doing here. I've found a nice place to stay and I'm safe here. It's a reputable establishment.

I've done some interesting things while I've been getting my own head screwed on straight.

I jumped off a waterfall into the beginning of a river two storeys below. That was pretty cool (and it was supervised as well). I certainly got me to feel like I was a person again, not this weird walking shell of a person.

I've been spending most of my days just writing.

Pages and pages of how I feel, how I'm coping with the loss of Paula, the stress I've gone through, the knowing of what it's like to shoot a bullet into someone and for them not to survive. Slowly, I'm getting it, that it wasn't my fault and I did the right thing. I keep saying it out loud, I keep writing it, I keep thinking it. I am so fortunate to be here, typing out this message to you right now even if I'm far away.

I'm coming to terms with it.

I don't think I'll be coming back to New York just yet though. I need a little more time. I'm still trying to find my feet in this new territory I've entered. I cry every night. As much as I'm beginning to find peace with myself during the daylight hours, when it comes to dusk, it's more of a struggle.

I'm determined to reach my goal so I can come back to you.

If…if you want to reply, that'd be really, really great. Just to see I haven't completely pushed you away…

Love,

Savannah.

* * *

Don sighed as he read the email again. He was taking a coffee break to help with the dregs of the hangover symptoms when the message had come through. And she had been right. He had really appreciated hearing a few more details of how she was doing. She sounded like she was in her right mind, if a little doubting. It was good to see that she wasn't just drowning in depression and was actually acting on how she felt after the shooting.

His fingers poised over the keyboard, Flack paused.

Should he do it? Reply? Push aside the childish whim to hold a grudge until she got back?

Simply put…yes.

He kept it brief, knowing that if anything tripped Anna's guilt, she'd rush back before she was ready.

* * *

Email to: Savannah Cormier 

Sent from: Don Flack 

RE: Receiving Loud and Clear

Dear Savannah,

I'm happy you're comfortable enough to email me. It does help and I do want to hear more from you. Look, don't worry about me. I'm fine, I'm good, and I know you're sorry. It's okay. You just keep doing what you're doing. I'll be waiting when you return. I promise.

See you when you get back,

-Don.

* * *

When she got the reply, Savannah smiled, so relieved that Don had responded. It was the first thing since the waterfall yesterday to bring a smile to her face.

Her dreams had been better last night. Instead of grisly scenes of murder, it was just her, running through the swampland of New Orleans, getting stuck in the mire. She hadn't thought much about New Orleans since she had left it as a child and when Stella had left earlier in the year. For it to come up in her subconscious disconcerted the cafe owner.

Savannah closed her laptop and put it away, grabbing her bag and heading out to treasure the day she had been given and piece another part of her soul together.

* * *

Email to: Don Flack 

Sent from: Savannah Cormier 

RE: Your Day?

Hey Don,

I'm so glad you replied. It was a really good feeling when I read that.

So...what did I do yesterday after I sent the e-mail? Well, one thing is for certain. We'll have to come back here to do it again. I went on a winery tour. It was a small winery, but it was beautiful. I think you'd definitely get a kick out of it, knowing how much you appreciate your wines and that wine fridge of yours. The guide took a group of five of us around, showing the processes involved. It was fascinating and was good to get my mind of things for a little while. I got a few souvenirs while I was there.

I then walked around town, finding the local gems as told by the owners of the place I'm staying.

I've bought some little things to remind me of this place. When I got here, drove through the town, something pulled me to it. Like instinct or a higher power was saying 'stay here, it'll all work out.' And so far, it has. I'm still close to the edge of going into a deeper sadness, but like I said, I'm working to get myself clear.

Can I ask…when was the first time you shot in self defence? How did you deal with it?

And, how has your day been?

Love,

Savannah.

* * *

The whispers started that day when Flack entered the precinct.

He hated when people did that. They were talking about you or something related to you and they either pretended they were talking about something else when you approached or they stared as they passed on whatever hot gossip. Most of the place knew about the shooting and who had shot who – it was the police department, of course everyone was going to know about it. What irked Flack was that they talked about Savannah. It was explicable that they had noticed her absence – she hadn't returned to the cafe – but it fed fuel to rumours. His keen ears had picked up phrases that had upset him greatly.

'_I heard that she cracked after she shot the drug dealer and Flack had to send her to the loony bin.'_

'_No, no, you got it all wrong. She's using the shooting as an excuse I bet. Remember when Waverly was around and she hinted that Savannah had been seeing something on the side? I bet you anything she's left poor Flack alone for some other guy and ran away with him.'_

'_She has to be pregnant, and she was going through too much stress so they've kept her out of the public eye, that's what I think.'_

'_She's probably hasn't stopped crying alone in her room since she shot the bastard. Tough women can fall.'_

It took all of his worn down self control not to snap back and shut down the rumours in his usual cutting way. Instead, he let them go. They would all be proved wrong anyway when Anna returned to New York. Let them waste their breath on trivial things while he focussed on his cases.

Receiving her next email was a bright spot in his day.

The mention of the winery brought a quick smirk to Flack's face and lifted his mood. As did her words 'we should come back.' It was a positive forecast on their future as a couple. But then he hesitated when she asked the question about the first time he had to shoot to kill in self defence. Part of her really wanted to tell her, and another didn't.

Flack realised he was being stupid about not wanting to show the ugly side of his job. Savannah already knew most of it.

* * *

Email to: Savannah Cormier 

Sent from: Don Flack 

RE: My Day

Dear Savannah,

With the job? Same shit different fan. (I hope that cheers you up). One interesting thing earlier this morning was that I happened to be in a bank questioning a witness on a different case when a few would-be robbers came in. We stopped them of course, before they could even finish their sentence of 'Put your hands up, we want the cash.' The weird thing was…they were in costume.

What kind of costume?

Guess.

Robin Hood and his Merry Men.

After we arrested them, I could finally laugh at their outfits. The main guy 'Robin Hood' had gotten his tights too small and was begging us for a pair of different pants so he wouldn't have an everlasting wedgie.

Apart from that, it was, you know, an ordinary day in NYC.

Now as for your other question. The answer isn't pretty.

But I'm going to tell you anyway because I'd be treating you like a dumbass if I didn't. My first shoot to kill in self defence was five months into being a rookie. Sergeant Moran, the guy who taught me it all, and I were on patrol through Harlem. He was yakking on about things to remember, quizzing me on cases as I was driving, and I spotted something down a side street. Just a flicker of movement but it looked suspicious so I drove down it. This guy was mugging another guy, but he had a gun and was pistol-whipping the shit out of his victim.

We did the whole 'Freeze, NYPD' routine, which would have gone without a hitch…if the guy hadn't started shooting at us. And what was worse is that he ran towards me as he was shooting. I got a graze on the side of my neck and I knew that if I didn't do something, I would be dead. So I shot him, straight in the heart like I had trained for. Now I had seen dead bodies. That wasn't an issue for me. What was an issue for me was that I had done it. My first reaction was to dunk my head in a trashcan and throw up what the hell was in my stomach. Moran was real steady, noting it all down and telling me I did the right thing.

I took two days off just to party hard, get drunk until I couldn't feel anything, and lost myself to the club scene. Then I took a shower, told myself that it would only be the first of the many I would probably take to defend myself, and went back to work. It got easier to deal with when the victim came up and thanked me for saving his life when he got out of hospital. The first time was the hardest. Each time it happens, I ask myself if it was necessary.

The answer is always yes.

I hope that helps you, and I'll see you when you return.

-Don.

* * *

Savannah went back to the waterfall, but she didn't jump this time. Instead, she found herself a rock shielded from the path to get up to the pinnacle, but still giving a breathtaking view of the nature. She had much to think about after Don's last email. They had talked about how he had killed in the line of duty before, because he came to her after he had to do it on his bad days. But he had never revealed anything about the first time. Or anything of the emotions behind it. Savannah thought better in nature, so she left the calming colour tones of the B&B room and headed for the waterfall with her bag and journal.

Quietly, the brunette repeated the mantra she had written down in her first day in Barkhamstead. "I am lucky to be alive. I forgive myself but can't regret what I've done. I will get better and I will continue."

Every time she repeated that, it was like she was given liberty to enjoy whatever activity she was going to do.

Today was poetry.

Admittedly, she wasn't the best at it, but her strongest passions always came out in writing. And she was living in the moment, so she might as well.

Time slipped by easily as she carefully constructed stanzas in her journal to fill in the pages behind all the other poetry she had written, all her secrets and desires and little odds and ends from life that ended up in this leather bound book.

Savannah only stopped when her stomach rumbled, reminding her to tend to the basic everyday needs. She blushed although no one was around to see her embarrassment that she had forgotten the time. She decided to go to a tiny little place called 'The Dandelion' to eat. She had been told by the owner of the stall who gave her the bracelet that it was the perfect place to go for a little pick me up nearby.

Reaching it, she was the only person in the cafe style eatery. The privacy was nice as she sat and perused the menu. The over enthusiastic teenaged serving girl eagerly took down the order, causing Savannah to smile. She wanted that passion when she returned to her own cafe and changed it, making sure that no bad memories lingered.

Savannah was pleasantly surprised that the cauliflower and watercress soup she had ordered had been tasty – completely exceeding her expectations. It gave her ideas for when she re-opened her cafe.

It put her in a positive enough mood to email Don once more before having a quick rest.

* * *

Email to: Don Flack

Sent from: Savannah Cormier 

RE: Another update for you

Dearest Don,

First of all, thank you so much for sharing that with me. You didn't have to and for all I know you could still be angry at me, but to read about what you went through meant a lot. And it also made me think about my situation and how your words could help me.

They did. They really did. It shows just how much you understand what I'm going through. Thinking about it and putting my thoughts about it on paper and comparing it to my situation calmed me, along with going back to see the pretty waterfall I mentioned in another email. I wrote poetry.

I have something else to mention. When I got here, I had no interest in food. No interest in cooking, and I could barely stomach the thought of even eating something big. But today I found a place to change all that. Although I can picture you making a face at the dish that caused the spark of interest in my passion to flare back up again.

Cauliflower and watercress soup.

I can just picture that funny look on your face: 'Veggies? Really?' At least you'll let me feed them to you now, instead of me having to sneakily puree them and put them in your cakes.

I hope you aren't shutting yourself off from your friends. You know they just care about you so much.

Love,

Savannah.

* * *

Don had read that email a bit guiltily and decided to act on it.

That night, he had met up with Sam and had a bit of sibling time with her. The next night, he had joined Hawkes and Danny in going to see a basketball game just because they all happened to have the night off and no one else did. In socialising, Flack realised that he had thrown himself into work a bit too much since Savannah's departure in an attempt not to give in to the vices that hovered at the edge of his conscience.

That, and he didn't want people consoling him or giving him advice. The subject of the struggles he and his partner were going through was theirs alone.

But when Flack went to the game with the CSI's, they had tactfully not mentioned anything about Savannah or the shooting.

Danny had been the one to cheer him up, imitating the bad plays and yelling loudly whenever he felt the referee had made a bad call.

Hawkes was the quietly amused one, and was acting like his normal walking Wikipedia like self. Flack was amazed at just how much knowledge the doctor's head could hold, ranging from facts about the plays to the origin of the game itself and even the materials down to the scientific chemicals of the basketballs themselves.

When he went home, he decided to send a message of his own to Anna to tell her what he had been doing.

* * *

Email to: Savannah Cormier

Sent from: Don Flack 

RE: Normal Things

Dear Savannah,

I would rather eat a million vegetables than have you leave me again. As much as it's cool you've got your creative mojo back, I have missed you while you've been gone.

On to less touchy things.

You were right in your last email. I was neglecting my relationships with the people around me a bit. I didn't realise I was doing it, but I didn't feel like having people talk at me like they know _exactly_ what I'm going to. I think people don't realise that it's not really a good tool of interpersonal communication (like that phrase? I learnt that in court a few weeks ago) to give constant advice. Sometimes I just want to be heard.

You'd know. You'd understand that, definitely.

So I did do some things. Sam and I went into Chinatown the other night to share some noodles and catch up. She says to say 'hi' by the way. And tonight I went and saw a b-ball came with the guys, so I have got a bit of normal life in me. It's not the same without you here though.

Anyway, Danny and Sheldon were great.

I'll see you whenever you return.

-Don

* * *

It was her sixth day in Barkhamstead.

Savannah knew it was almost time for her to leave, and spent her day walking around town in a sundress and hat, her bag slung over her shoulder. She chose to walk on the side of the road, sandals off, squeezing her toes into the grass and fresh dirt. She had done these barefoot walks a lot when she had lived in Hampton, but not so much in New York. Too much concrete and danger of getting something nasty stuck in your foot.

When she was close to nature like this, the brunette felt like the chaotic jumble of her thoughts were massaged out, straightened by the tender fingers of fresh air and environment.

She was weird, to love a city like New York where greenery was a rare and wonderful sight to behold, when she enjoyed copious amounts of nature. It was why going to Central Park was her day off activity of choice.

Anna knew that it would be hard work to stay in this positive mindset she had finally achieved thanks to her dedication and Don's words in his emails. There were still moments where she would stop and go back to that second when she realised that she would _have _to pull the trigger of her gun to save her life. However, it wasn't as sharp or as painful as it had been earlier in the week and directly after the event. Nightmares were gradually lessening in their degree of intensity with every night that passed.

Savannah was healing.

And she felt that she had fixed herself enough that when she returned to Don, they could discuss the hardships without being overly emotional. She was mostly pieced together. All she needed was a little TLC from her family and friends to be complete and whole again.

After her day meandering around, revisiting her favourite places that she had discovered, the cafe owner returned to the Rose and Thistle. After dinner that the managers had prepared for their boarders at an extra cost to the room, she went out into the garden she had visited so frequently during her stay. She recalled her first time seeing it, how shaky and fragile she had been. Now, Savannah felt strong enough to face reality.

"You're leaving tomorrow."

The voice was recognisable as the female manager who had lovingly tended the flowers. She drew closer to the silent Savannah who was watching her with curious grey-green eyes.

"You say that like its definite," the brunette remarked.

The older woman shrugged. "It is. I can tell in the way you move about the place. You're stronger, more confident than you were when you arrived. The woman I've seen today I think is the real you Ms. Cormier. Besides," she crouched down before her, "the broken ones that find this place have an attraction to the garden. I call it the Garden of Reflection. Because whatever it is you're looking for, you've found it during your stay. While you have been here, you've been a treat to have."

Savannah held her silence as the woman patted her arm in a friendly manner, rose up, and moved away.

Then, she gazed at the sky, picking out the few constellations she knew and thought about the new choices ahead of her.

* * *

It was a week since Savannah had basically disappeared off the face of the Earth.

That's how Flack felt anyway.

Although his feelings about the matter were coloured by the trying and long day he had. He was supposed to only work the morning from 7am to noon because he had been working overtime for most of the week. As per usual, a simple five hour shift had rolled into a twelve hour one. It had been a carnage of a shift, with Flack leaving the station as soon as he returned to go back on another call out. There had been an accidental drowning at an indoor pool in a hotel, a few massive car pile ups under suspicious circumstances, and one body of an elderly man with the flesh ripped from his wrists.

The detective had completely lost track of time until Captain Haplan had sent him home.

The drive back to his apartment seemed longer than usual, and when he finally made it into his hallway, he wasn't firing on all cylinders. He was bleary with fatigue and wanted nothing more than to drop on the couch and fall asleep to the sound of either baseball or basketball.

He walked in and then realised the lights were on. He was sure they had been off when he had left that morning.

And then, the reason for the lights being on quietly stepped out from the kitchen with a sign in her hands.

'_**Forgive Me?'**_

Savannah was before him, biting her lip nervously, curls framing her pallid face, but there was a sparkle in her eyes, a liveliness about her that had returned. Flack just stopped, unable to really believe it, frozen by her unexpected return.

"Is this the part like in the movies where I run into your arms? Or is it the part where you lecture me for doing such a damn fool thing and hurting you?" she asked softly.

"Huh...honestly, I don't know," Don replied, but he smiled, a slow stretching of his lips when it sunk in that Savannah had returned and it was here she came first. He had finally noticed her bags next to the doorway. "But I know one thing. Of course you're forgiven. Just...don't run away again."

"I promise."

They just stared at each other, silence stretching onwards as they simply took each other in. Savannah was the first to move, stepping forward uncertainly and canting her head, wondering if he would allow her to make contact. Then Don moved forward too, and then they were in each other's arms, hugging each other tightly in pure relief.

"I'm so sorry...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you away and hurt you," the brunette whispered unsteadily, inhaling his scent underneath the smell of cigarettes from coming in and out of the precinct where other detectives smoked and the faint body odour. She couldn't care less. She didn't realise just how much she had ached to be back here like this with her lover until the second she had seen him, exhausted and dishevelled from whatever detective adventures he had been through today. To use a worn cliché, Flack had been a sight for sore eyes.

"I missed you. So much," Don said quietly, patting her back and stroking through her hair. He wouldn't wreck this moment by admitting how hurt he had been. That was for another time. Right now, he was too glad she was home.

"Me too. But like I said in the emails, I don't regret it. It helped so much to take a break from the rush of New York, have some alone time," confessed Savannah earnestly.

"That's all that matters. That there was a goal that you achieved, baby," he replied.

"Nothing keeps me down for long," she said firmly.

"You're a fighter," Don murmured, giving her one last squeeze before pulling back and cupping the side of her face, examining it. She was still haunted by the actions of shooting to kill; it was there, a shadow in her grey-green eyes. It was almost a cast away thought because Savannah looked much healthier than she had before she left. Her whole being didn't seem as melancholy. And she seemed very happy to see him. "You look beautiful to me."

Savannah flushed prettily, grinning up at him. "You're not bad yourself, handsome."

"Come here," Don muttered, and gently laid his lips over hers, keeping it chaste and relieved.

It was a relatively quick kiss, holding just enough to establish connection and love and to acknowledge the pain, but breaking off to embrace once more.

"Stay for tonight? I need to know that, you know, this isn't my whacked out, tired mind telling me that you're here when you're not," the detective said.

"Okay. And I promise that I'll stay and not run off this time," Savannah replied.

* * *

**A/N: How was the pacing and structure for you? And the reunion, how'd you find that? Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. I can just picture you guys being like 'yay! She's back!'**


	27. She's Back!

**A/N: I'm so happy you guys all liked the reunion! I had so hoped it would be enjoyable. To Leslie Emm, CSINYNut, SomebodyWhoCares, Kayla, Smuffly, JJ an Forest Angel, you guys rock. I apologise if my PM's never got to you or they seemed rushed and vague. I've been very rushed recently. So thank you for the effort you guys put in to review. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** Swearing

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 27 – She's Back!**

* * *

_When you need some shelter from the rain  
When you need a healer for your pain  
I will be there time and time again  
When you need someone to love you  
Here I am_

**Leona Lewis – Here I Am**

* * *

Savannah returned to her apartment the next morning (not without waiting for Don to wake up though – she would hate for him to think she had disappeared once more or that her return had been a hallucination).

She just chucked her bags in before locking the door and turning to the door opposite hers. The door to Jacks' apartment.

She knocked and prepared herself for any and all negative reactions.

It opened slowly, her cousin peering out curiously before recognising her.

"OH MY GOD!" Jacks squealed, throwing the door open and tackling Anna in a hug. "You're home!"

Savannah found herself chuckling and hugging Jacks back. "I got back to New York last night, but I decided to see Don first. Did the whole kiss and make up thing."

"About time too!"

"You aren't mad I just left you with the mess I made?" the taller woman asked as Jacks guided her inside the apartment.

"No. I can't be mad at you, not after what we went through. No way!" Jacks insisted, laying down on her beanbag as Savannah took the couch. "As far as I was concerned, when you left, I got a week's holiday because the cafe is still closed. It gave me the time to just wind down from all of the tension of that day. Not to mention, when you went, I knew that when you came back that you'd be mostly all good again."

"It's always nice to know you have so much faith in me," remarked Savannah.

Jacks chuckled. "Of course I do! We've grown up together through my visits to Hampton, Anna. I know you. You wouldn't leave so many people behind forever. You love everyone and you love life too much."

To hear it said so plainly made the curly haired woman realise just how much her cousin observed her. "Thanks Jacks," she replied gratefully.

"Hey, I knew that you operate best on your own. Don went a little crazy though. The few times I saw him he was tense. You should give him a massage just as an apology for all of the stress he's been put through recently. I bet your fingers could work out those kinks. You couldn't give him advice though, he was putting up the 'tough man' front like he does," the shorter woman informed her.

Savannah hung her head in embarrassment. "Well, I did take off without any warning."

"You did. And it's easy to be angry at that but then anyone would be spinning around in circles and wouldn't take any step towards moving on."

"Did you eat Confucius? You're coming up with more words of wisdom than usual."

Jacks grinned. "I was watching Star Wars last night, so it was like a Yoda and Confucius combo."

"Ah, that's why," Savannah said wryly with a quick smirk. "It's true though. I think I'm moving forward. I mean, I'm back here. I'm ready to get back to the cafe and change it, open it up for fresh business again. I've got new ideas, new things to try, and I'm excited about it."

"Does that mean you're also here to ask me to tag along so we can create something new?" asked Jacks knowingly.

Nodding, the younger woman replied, "Yes. Now that I'm back, I can't picture sitting still. I want to go buy some paint cans, get changed into the rattiest clothes I've got and start remodelling right away. Don said that he can't help out until his shift is over but I don't mind. Life goes on and he has to do his job after all." Savannah paused to take a breath, having talked rapidly through the spiel. "So…you in?"

"On like Donkey Kong."

"You should never get more than a few days off. Your hyperactive mind gets too bored and rediscovers things from when we were younger," teased Savannah.

"Duh. So…where did you go while you were away?" asked Jacks.

Taking a deep breath, Savannah told her about it all.

* * *

A few hours later, the cousins arrived at the cafe. Brightly tie-dyed bandannas covered their hair to protect them from paint, and they donned old, frayed jeans and shirts – the staple for reconstruction. They carried paint cans and the car was full of painting equipment that had been laying around in the shed on the roof of their apartment building. They had also found heavy duty cleaners to remove any last trace from what had happened a week and a half ago.

"Well…how do you want to start?" Jacks asked, scanning the main room of the cafe.

Rolling up her shirt sleeves, Savannah replied, "We're going to do all the walls a bright, blinding white. And then we're gonna tackle that back wall. Bye-bye agent orange." She then saw the spot where a faint smudge indicated where Paula had died. "But first, we're going to scrub every inch of this place," she said determinedly.

They got to work, clearing away whatever was on the counter and benches and attacking the walls and shelving with the cleaner. Any liquid that dropped to the floor they left for when they got to the floor. Once everything was put back after the benches and shelves were clean, Jacks and Anna got stuck into the floor, getting down on their knees to scrub at the stubborn bits of grit and the leftover stains. Although Savannah wanted to rip up the lino, that would have to come later when she had more time and patience. Right now, she just wanted the place clean so tomorrow she could begin her life again.

She had just gone out the back for the mop when she returned to find that Jacks wasn't the only person in the cafe.

Jo and Danny stood there in similar, old attire, matching grins on their faces.

"Welcome back! My stomach was having abandonment issues y'know, thinkin' that you had left for good," teased Danny, striding forward and gathering Savannah up in a hug.

"Oh Danny, it's nice to see you too!" she exclaimed joyously, uplifted by the sudden surprise, hugging him back.

"Nice to see we got a call to let us know you were back," Jo said in a lightly scolding tone, but she, too, reached forward and gathered the younger woman into her arms tightly. "Oh I've missed teasing you about your relationship with Don and trying to pry more information out of you."

Savannah laughed. Secretly, she had missed that too. "Well I'm back now. And I'm not running away again."

"I'm surprised Don didn't handcuff himself to you when you got back to make sure that you didn't leave," joked Jo.

"Nah, he'd never do that. He knows it'd push me away. Anyway, what's up with you two?" Savannah asked.

Danny gestured at the holey shirt he wore. "What, you think I wore this to look pretty? Flack told us that you were goin' to come back here and basically transform it into the Comfort Cafe version 2.0."

"We don't have to be at work right now so we thought we'd pitch in," added Jo. "The rest of the team is going to trickle in when they finish or before they begin too."

"You don't have to."

"But we want to," insisted the older woman, slinging an arm around the younger woman's shoulders. "We really do. We're so happy that you're back. It's like a piece of New York disappeared when you left. This city isn't the same without you and we want to make sure you're actually here and getting on okay. We want to be a part of the rebirth of this place." Savannah began to look emotional so Jo murmured, "Come on, kiddo. What do you say?"

"You're all nuts," Savannah blurted, however she grinned. "But I love you all anyway. It's great you want to help me."

"Let's get crackin'!" Danny cried, bending forward to tug the mop from Savannah's hands and dunking it into the mop bucket.

The saying is true: many hands make light work. In no time, the place, from the ceiling to the floors was sparkling with cleanliness. Regrettably, Jo and Danny could only stay for that hour, but as they left, Sheldon and Adam came in, smiles wide.

Jacks laughed when she saw the two geeks. "Hey Anna, look who the next shift is!"

Savannah grinned back at them, ruffling Adam's hair in her customary way as Hawkes embraced her.

Her next goal was to paint all her blue tables a deep emerald green to give a cooler vibe to the new surroundings she intended to set up. She got the two men to take all the tables through to the alley so that if they made a mess with the paint it wouldn't matter and would be easier to clean up. They also put as much old newspaper underneath the tables as they could to minimise the potential cleaning up they would have to do. Soon, the tables were a gleaming green as a coat of protective sealant dried. When the time consuming task was complete, the lab tech and CSI regrettably had to leave for the lab.

Much to Jacks and Savannah's everlasting gratitude and surprise, Sid and Lindsay were the next ones to arrive and they brought two pizzas with them. Both had coincidentally had a lunch break at the same time and thought to share them with the hardworking cousins and also get to see Savannah in the process. Sid and Lindsay insisted that the two women sat and had a short break while they helped out by laying thick sheets of newspaper around the walls so that when it came time for them to paint, the two wouldn't mess up their superb cleaning achievement. They also set up the paint, paint rollers and the brushes so that when Jacks and Anna came back to the work, they could jump straight into it.

Lindsay caught Savannah up on the new words Lucy had learned while she had been away and told her that Lucy had played a prank on her own father by getting her pink highlighter and drawing on Danny's face while he had slept. It made the taller woman laugh uproariously with the description of Danny getting up and crying out in shock at the sight of his face in the bathroom mirror.

Sid had put in with a few anecdotes of his daughters. About how they had once tricked the boy next door into eating a worm by telling him it was live spaghetti and water ballooning the mean tempered dog of the other neighbour.

Soon it was their time to leave as well.

The two brunettes were left alone to paint the walls. They used almost all their primer and white paint in the process in their effort to coat the three surfaces. So it would dry quicker, they flung every door and window in the place open which let the pungent fumes escape. An hour and a half later, Savannah was finally ready to repaint over the once cheery burnt orange back wall. Now to her, it was sickly looking.

"Staring at it won't make it paint itself."

Savannah paused, smiled, and turned to the sound of her favourite voice in the world. "You never know. I could be telekinetic," she quipped.

Flack smirked back at her. "Then I'd be in trouble." He took her hand and tugged her over to him, wrapping her securely in his arms. "How're you doing babe?" he asked quietly.

"Healing. I'm actually really good right now," the brunette replied genuinely. When Don kissed her cheek and nuzzled down her neck to rest his head on her shoulder, she observed, "You're being awfully affectionate while I'm covered in paint."

"You _did_ leave," he reminded her pointedly.

Savannah grimaced and pulled back. "I stayed this morning though. That has to count for something," she whispered. "I know, we haven't really talked, but…later?"

"Later," promised Don. "Right now, I'm here to help you."

"And he brought reinforcements," Jacks commented casually from her position five feet away. She waved at the other visitor. "Hey Mac. I think this is the most dressed down we've ever seen you."

Mac smirked at them both. It was true, he was wearing a black t-shirt and faded jeans with rips in the knees. He looked nothing like the normal Detective Mac Taylor. Don was also dressed in tatty jeans and his basketball singlet, obviously ready to help with the redecorating. Mac came forward to take Savannah from Don's arms and give her his own embrace. "Nice to see you back," he murmured to her.

"Thanks Mac. I can't believe that everyone came today to help out," she said. She then glanced at the taller detective. "Was that your doing?"

"I just made a comment that you were back and maybe coming back here to do up the place," shrugged Flack, a faint hint of a smile around his mouth as he struggled to maintain innocence.

Savannah smiled. "Thanks, sugar. It really helped to have those extra bodies."

"So what are you planning to do with this last wall?" asked Mac, releasing her.

The cafe owner turned and gestured to the last paint cans. "No more orange. We're doing a turquoise that's more blue than green. Still bright, just not too warm. Tomorrow I think I'll come back here and see what decorations I can put on the wall."

"We were thinking of putting up pictures of our regulars and also a picture of Paula in memory," chipped in Jacks. She pointed to the original plaques Savannah had put up when she had first came to the cafe of Jess, Evangeline, and her friends James and Amanda. "Those are staying above the counter though. It didn't feel right to move them."

"Sounds like a good idea," agreed Flack.

Mac, contemplating the suggestions, put forward an idea of his own. "As well as the photos, why don't you paint some 'food' words or food quotes as well? So that your customers have something to discover when they sit in the cafe."

The idea sparked another one in turn. Excited about the prospect, Savannah added, "And some inspirational quotes too, for when people have their down days. Maybe we can encourage them to do things in the process."

"Why don't we all do one inspirational quote?" Jacks put forward, looking around at everyone else for their approval.

"Sounds good to me," said the taller brunette, and reached for the paint roller, announcing, "Let's do this!"

"That's my line," grumbled Flack teasingly.

The four got to work, priming the wall for the new paint and then covering up the burnt orange with coat after coat of the new, bright colour. Instantly, the cool shade of turquoise transformed the area. There was a new energy in the cafe and it was reflected in the energy of the people working on the wall. It was as if the terrible things had been erased once more. Not forgotten, but it was the sign of a new beginning for the Comfort Cafe.

When that coat dried, the remainder of the white paint was used to inscribe the quotes on the wall.

The contrast between each person's writing style made for the perfect point of interest. Mac's was military precision neat, almost like it was typed on a computer screen. Jacks had slightly messy, elaborately curled writing but gave a vintage elegance to her words. Don had slanted, just legible writing that was bold and spoke to the inner strength he had. Savannah's was cursive, elegant but not messy like her cousin.

The food words and quotes had been done first with the words 'coffee,' 'soup,' 'delicious,' and other related food words dotted around quotes such as:

"_If you really want to make a friend, go to someone's house and eat with them…the people who give you their food give you their heart."_

"_Life is a combination of magic and pasta."_

"_One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating."_

Then each person had done their own inspirational quote.

Mac chose "_Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."_

Jacks had favoured a more cheerful one: "_Because when you stop and look around, this life is pretty amazing."_

Flack and Savannah had quickly shared each other's in a whisper before painting them, grinning at the way they thought. Don had scrawled "_Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving__."_ While Savannah had gone for "_Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself. Do what you love and love what you do."_

They all stepped back, gazing at their efforts.

Savannah summed it up in three words. "This is perfect."

"We should have done that kind of thing when we first opened," Jacks said in awe of what they had created. "Hey Mac, great idea."

"You're welcome," the older man replied quietly.

Flack said nothing. He just smiled. He knew this was just like Anna had said. Perfect. He knew that when he came here to visit his partner that he would look at the wall and be proud of what they had created. There was a story in the words they had written. He looked over at Savannah, whose eyes had welled up slightly with tears although she was content. He moved to her and slid his hand around her waist, a silent support. Mac and Jacks saw what was happening and nonchalantly exited out the back, chatting about some upcoming festival.

"I can't wait to come and open up tomorrow," she murmured.

Thoughtfully, Don murmured, "Why don't you wait an extra day and get some other things sorted instead of jumping back into it?"

"I can cope."

"It's not about coping. It's about giving it some time to sink in. And also get the paint fumes out. I don't mean stay in the apartment all day, I mean go and do something that doesn't involve work," he advised kindly.

Seeing his point, Savannah nodded. "Okay. I already have an idea as to what I'll do tomorrow."

"Like poetry?" Don asked. "I read some of it."

"You did?" the brunette asked in surprise.

"You left a few behind in your bedside drawer when you left and took your journal with you," Don explained. He chuckled at her stunned expression and the tops of her cheeks coloured. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. I thought it was cute that you wrote about me."

"Well, I'm not exactly the best at it. It's something I do to help sort out some of my thoughts sometimes. Which is why I did it while I was away. It was a coping tool," Savannah replied.

"Speaking of while you were away…"

"Your apartment or mine?" Savannah asked, knowing this was coming.

Don thought about it for maybe half a second before replying, "Mine."

* * *

After leaving Mac and Jacks to go home to their own apartments, the couple made their way to Flack's. They went out to the small balcony, sitting side by side overlooking the East River, Savannah's head resting on Don's shoulder.

"Where do you want to begin?" Savannah asked quietly.

Frowning, the blue eyed man replied, "Maybe with how I felt when you left."

Sighing, steeling herself for the outburst of pain she was sure was coming, Savannah said, "Okay. Lay it on me. Every single emotion you felt when I was gone and when I left."

Taking a moment to admire her frankness and the fact she was willingly baring herself up to it, Don began. "I was this big mess of pissed off and so fucking scared that you had done something stupid in your grief. When I read your letter, I felt betrayed because of exactly what you said in it that you didn't feel like you could talk to me. I went to your apartment hoping I could catch you, that it wasn't too late. But it was. And it hurt. After what we had just been through, it hurt," he admitted in a quiet, even tone. He forced himself to look outwards, not at Savannah, or else they would both lose it. "I wanted to punch through a wall that day. Then, I found your poetry and read it. It threw me. Here I was, all angry and pissed off and then reminded of how much you felt for me."

He continued after a short pause, "I was conflicted. Should I hang onto the anger or do I just let it go and hope for the best? In the end, after a night out with the guys and coming back here and missing you so much that it would be stupid to stay angry, I let it go. I said to myself that we'd work it out when you came back." He looked down at her thoughtful face. "And here we are. Your emails also helped. I wasn't as upset because of that." Don sighed. "I think I missed you more than anything else. I was upset but I got over it quick because I knew that if I chased you, you would never take the time to heal. And I'd probably push you away too."

Savannah leaned into him, taking his hand and lightly rubbing two fingers over his knuckles. "I'm sorry," she said. "I never wanted you to feel that because of me."

"But that was normal for the situation. Babe, if that's the worst thing we ever do to each other, we're still alright. There's more dysfunctional couples out there."

"True," conceded Savannah quietly. "I still feel guilty about that. I mean, like I've been saying, I have had no regrets for my time away. I just regret the way I left."

"You know what we're going to do to change that," Don said, and turned his hand over and grasped hers firmly. "We are going to make this promise again. A promise to not run away when things get hard because we are only human. We can share whatever we need to." He surveyed her eyes sincerely and drew her closer. "What was it you said before Stella left? We're going to weather these storms as long as we're together."

The brunette chuckled lightly, remembering when she had said that. "I promise. I promise no more running. I mean it this time. We'll go to a punching bag at a gym or I'll go on a crazy mad baking spree or go out and do some silly things with you," Savannah vowed.

"Do I need to get a pinky promise out of you?"

"No," she snickered at the light jibe. "But that means you too, just in case."

"I know," Don murmured.

Snuggling into the warm frame she had desperately missed in her time away, Savannah whispered, "Thanks. For today. For dealing with me. For loving me through the hard things."

Don made a noise of contentment and replied, "I made that promise to not give up on you. And I didn't. We're here now. We're moving on."

"Together," she confirmed.

* * *

**A/N: This was the chapter that held me up because the muse wasn't interested. I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless. Your reviewing always helps me out with gauging how I did.**


	28. Another Step

**A/N: *wiggles happily* You guys! We cracked 150, so cheers to my wonderful reviewers, the favouriters, and the alerts. It's been amazing. To SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, Forest Angel, Leslie Emm, Kayla, and JJ, you rock and continue to encourage me. **On another note, the song choice is at odds with the first part, but makes sense when you get towards the end.

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** Swearing

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 28 – Another Step**

* * *

_I don't really need to look very much further  
I don't want to have to go where you don't follow  
I won't hold it back again, this passion inside  
Can't run from myself  
There's nowhere to hide_

**Whitney Houston – I Have Nothing**

* * *

Bayview Correctional Facility. A rarity in that it was a prison located in the middle of New York City, not relegated to the outskirts. It was deemed to be safe enough to function as a medium security women's prison on west 20th and 11th.

Savannah couldn't help a sardonic smirk she had stolen from Don's own expression as she received her visitor's badge. Funny, that she was taking this additional day off to be here.

Part of her was screaming that she was nuts for even trying this.

The other part thought this would be another stepping stone on the path to wellness she was travelling on. She needed to talk to the woman who had been the catalyst to one of the big problems she had recently experienced. Needed to forgive and also give the gift of advice.

The brunette was guided down blank, seemingly endless corridors with multitudes of black doors that were secured tight and stood like ominous guards. She was then turned and led to the visitors room and put in booth 4.

Glaring at her through the toughened Perspex were the violet eyes of the flame haired Kirsti Waverly.

Waverly had not taken to prison well. No scrap of make up on her face, showing off the countless freckles she had been hiding behind a pancaked layer of foundation. Her lips were chapped and dull, and her eyes weren't as stunning without the ten layers of mascara and thick eyeliner. She was a lot less flawless without her war paint to cover up. Her hair also had seemed to deflate over time and was lacklustre, having lost the shine given by expensive hair products. The red locks were bound in a high, tight ponytail. Not a good look. Especially with the shapeless bright orange prison suit contrasting with her hair.

Savannah hid her wince at the ghastly look and picked up the phone, hoping that they would be able to communicate.

Waverly just continued to glare, crossing her arms.

Rolling her eyes, Savannah picked up a piece of paper in the booth and wrote on it before pressing the words to the plastic glass. '_If you don't talk to me now, I'll return every single day until my image is burned into your head.'_

That got the disgraced detective to move, jerking forward and snatching the phone from the holder. "What the hell do you want?" she growled.

"To talk," replied Savannah. "I heard that no one has visited you since you got sentenced."

"Thanks to you."

"Your actions put you here," Savannah went on calmly. It wasn't worth it to get overly frustrated about the pouting and bad attitude.

"I got five months here. You know how that feels? To be doing the same thing, dodging the same bitches day after day just to survive? I doubt it," Kirsti hissed.

Savannah let her hiss and curse for the next few minutes, serenely listening to the vitriol spewing from the redhead's lips. Finally, she had enough and cut her off with a wave of her hand. "Thank you. You've said your piece. And no, I wouldn't know what a real prison is like. But I know about being trapped inside my own head from delirious grief and dodging the ghosts from my past. I know about running away from everything I hold dear in the hope I can fix myself even if everything falls apart behind me. Don't act like you're the only one who is facing hardship, Waverly."

Miraculously, Waverly kept silent. She was still rebelliously glaring but there was a hint of curiosity.

"One thing I want to say is that you can't keep blaming others for your mistakes that got you here. What you have to do is learn from this. Don't make the mistake of hurting others for your own gain. Look what happened. You landed me in the hospital because you wanted to steal a very committed man from his relationship. It led to this. Was it worth it, Kirsti?" she questioned quietly.

The words reached the redhead. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she shook her head in a negative.

Feeling a mite of compassion for the misguided woman opposite her, Savannah advised, "You only have five months. What about the people who have years to be here? You have to come out at the end of those five months and forget the thought you're out of a job. There is so much possibility out there as long as you're willing to change. If you change, you can become a productive member of society."

There, a small change already. A tiny bit of hostility left the other woman's expression. "You think?" Waverly asked.

"Only if you change. Don't tart yourself up to steal men away from their relationships. You have to think of more than yourself. You can take my advice. Or you can leave it and go back out and do what you did before. But what if next time, it's not another person that is sent to hospital, but you?"

The ex-detective held her silence this time.

Savannah sighed quietly. "Before I leave, I just wanted to say a few more things. One is don't hold on to the anger. Transform it into something better. The other is…that I forgive you. I still don't like what you did to Don and I, but I forgive you," she said.

"Why?"

It was short, sharp, almost accusing in its intensity, but the brunette could tell Kirsti wanted to know. "Why do I forgive you? That's actually really quite simple. I forgive you because forgiveness is the cleansing fire that burns away old regrets and resentments. I'd also like to think that the act of forgiveness is one done by the stronger willed – to let go," she replied.

Satisfied in knowing that she had possibly set the wheels in motion so that Waverly wouldn't be as bitter when she came out, Savannah placed the phone back on the hook and stood, letting the guard show her out of the drab facility. She had said what she needed to say.

She felt so much lighter already.

* * *

The end of another day.

Flack finished filling in the paperwork to put another killer behind bars. This time, the evidence had taken over a month to spit out the clues to the perp. At least it was another nutjob off the streets.

He prepared to leave for Savannah's apartment. He was being a little paranoid in wanting to spend every single second he had spare time with her, true, but he needed to so he could relax instead of wondering if she was going to bolt again. She had promised she wouldn't – and rationally the detective knew that this time it was going to stick – and he wanted to make sure of that. Besides, it would be nice to have dinner together. The last time they had a proper dinner together with their usual chemistry and snark had been around two weeks ago, now. Too long in Flack's opinion.

Another reason he couldn't wait to get out of there was because the rumour mill was going into overdrive.

Since Savannah returned, so many in the precinct had come to him, wanting the news to be confirmed (and also to satisfy whatever betting pools that had gone around, Flack would bet). When all he said was that the cafe owner was back and healthy, there seemed to be a letdown in some people's faces – most likely the lack of a juicy scandal. The questions got so annoying to deal with from the gossip mongers that he put a small sign on his desk stating: Any answer for a work unrelated question will cost $5.

That had worked like a charm.

Even so, Flack knew that people were still whispering. About how they couldn't believe that she had just returned out of the blue and that everything was supposedly fine.

Whatever. The amount of fucks he gave about the matter came up to zero.

Because all that mattered was the truth, and the truth was that he and Savannah were back on track – things were fine when you opened up the channels of communication willingly.

Reaching Savannah's apartment, the detective smiled faintly as he got to her door and smelt the richness of Napoli sauce. What was that cooking minx up to now? Using the key, he entered and found the brunette at her favourite place – the stove.

"Hey. How're you feeling?" Don asked, placing his gun and other belongings on the bench and sidling up next to her to peer into the pot.

"Better. Always better. And before you ask, this is a Italian chicken stew, but because it's almost summer, we're having it with salad," Savannah replied.

"Oh no, not the 's' word," Don complained cheekily, dipping his finger in and bringing it up to taste the sauce. "Mmm, perfect seasoning."

"Good. I know last time I made this you wanted a bit more pepper in it. So, how was your day superhero?"

"Eh, normal. Putting scumbags behind bars and doing a shitload of research on new cases. What about you, what did you do with this additional day of rest?" he asked as they moved with unspoken familiarity – Flack getting the bowls and cutlery as Savannah finished off their dinner.

Savannah momentarily paused, and then decided to be blunt. "I visited Waverly in jail."

Don looked up from his task sharply. He wore a skeptical expression and said, "You went and saw the idiot who put you in the hospital. On a day for relaxation before getting back into the high speed rush of life."

"I know what you're thinking," she placated, turning off the heat on her stove and passing Don the salad bowl to put on the table. "That there was no point to it. But there was. There honestly was. I forgave her for what she did. And when I said the words to her, it was like this massive rock was taken off my shoulders. I also gave her some friendly advice to change her ways. I think it was the most relaxing thing I did, actually. I had to deal with annoying insurance companies and providers for my products." Savannah chuckled wryly as she tipped the stew into bowls. "I got to sit down and do nothing but talk for about fifteen minutes in the jail. In the air conditioning no less."

Don raised an eyebrow. "If you're sure."

Savannah turned, striding to him and placing her hands on his cheeks, a blazing, fierce look on her face. "This is how I'm coping. I'm doing things. I'm putting my life back together. I need you to understand that I'm sticking by this promise in staying and these are the steps I'm taking to do that," she enunciated.

Don sighed, wearily leaning into the touch. Savannah, feeling the residue of pain, leaned up and quickly pressed her lips to his. "I know you are. I just worry about you," he went on.

"That's okay." Savannah kissed him again and then murmured, "Come on. Let's have a nice dinner and we can just put on some action movie or comedy and sack out in front of the couch until we fall asleep. A nice lazy end to the day."

"Lazy. What's that word mean for us anyway?" Don asked sarcastically.

"The lazy person's busy," quipped the brunette and led him to the table where they ate. After clearing up, they did as Savannah suggested and put in 'Patch Adams' so they could get a good laugh out of it. The pair were on the couch, Flack upright while Savannah laid down on her side, curled up, using Don's thigh as a pillow. Occasionally, the detective would run his fingers through the curls just to hear her sigh in contentment. The film lightened up the atmosphere with the much needed humour.

As the credits rolled, Don asked a question that had hidden and niggled in the back of his mind since his girlfriend had returned to New York.

"I wanna know something. Where do you see us going from here?"

Savannah tilted her head up so she could see his clear blue eyes. "Meaning?"

"What do you see for you and me, together in the future?" he rephrased. "We love each other. But what do we want more than that?"

Turning so she could see him easier, the brunette blinked and licked her lips nervously. It was a very loaded question. Teasingly, she asked, "Isn't that a question the girl usually asks?" At Don's deadpan look, her smirk faded and she honestly replied, "I can see myself committed to you…forever. If that word doesn't scare you off that is."

"It doesn't. Why would it scare me off?"

Hesitantly, Savannah answered, "Don't get me wrong Don. I love you very much. But every day I catch myself and think of how lucky I am to have you – you are the best man I'll ever know. I know we're committed to our relationship. I'm so very happy with what we have but there was a tiny part of me that thought one day if I push too hard for some things I want that I'll be pushed away. I didn't want to be turned away from someone so important to me." Seeing Don's incredulous expression, she hastened to assure, "That's gone away ever since I went north to fix myself. What I'm trying to say is…I used to think that if I brought up the topic of moving in or kids that you would, I don't know – that it would cause strain between us. I don't think that anymore. Because you waited for me."

"Well yeah. Nothing you do could really scare me off." Then, in attempt to lift the mood, Don joked, "Well, unless you announced you wanted a sex change. _That_ would scare me."

Savannah laughed at that. "No, I'm pretty sure I don't want a sex change. I'm quite content being female thanks."

Don latched onto one of the topics Anna had mentioned. It would really be the first time the matter would be talked about seriously. "So…kids, huh?"

Shrugging, she said, "Yeah. I adore Lucy and Callum. And, well, I look at them sometimes and imagine what it'd be like to have a baby of my own. I do want children, that's for certain." Curiously trying to read her boyfriend's face, she asked him, "What about you?"

He hummed in thought, stroking through her hair again. "I've never thought about having my own until Danny and Linds said they were having a kid. Before that, nah, never a big priority for me. I wasn't against it, but I was just so busy with my job it was never a real concept I was thinking of. When Lucy came around…my thinking changed. And I started thinking that one day it really would be nice to have a few kids to come home to."

"It would be. I would be lying if I said that I've never wondered what our child looked like. You know, if we decided to have one," Savannah said with a hint of an embarrassed blush at her cheeks.

"That's cute," Don smiled. "So we're on the same wavelength on that one then. A few in the future is definitely a thought."

"Mmm-hmm."

Don wondered, "But what about before kids? Look into your crystal ball and tell me: marriage, long life de facto or other option you're interested in."

"You're asking me as if you don't have an opinion on the matter," Savannah pointed out.

"I do have an opinion. I just want to hear yours first," replied Don.

She shook her head slightly, lifting her hand to trace a finger over his jaw line. "You first this time handsome."

"Bringing out the compliments. The big guns."

"There's another 'big gun' I've been wondering about, but later. I want to know what you see for us Don," Savannah insisted.

He took the moment to gather his thoughts under the expectant grey-green orbs that gazed up at him adoringly. He knew what he wanted. He was traditional like that. "I do want to get married eventually. I think it brings a real strength to a relationship. That's how I see it. I know people who have happily been together for years and years who aren't married – and that's cool, it's their thing – but I've always liked the idea."

Nodding, the curvaceous woman took that in. She smiled up at him. "Me too. Although I would be just as happy not being married, there's always that girlish fantasy of finding they guy who you're going to walk down the aisle to. Not a big, silly frou frou wedding though. I think that's impractical."

"Ditto."

"Ever been to one of those kinds?"

"God yes," Don exclaimed in remembrance. "My brother Michael's wedding was like that. His wife turned into a total bridezilla. Everything had to be _perfect_ or else she'd spaz out. She had a massive dress with a train worthy of those royal weddings and there was pink and blue everywhere – bridesmaids dresses, flowers, placeholders, the cummerbunds and balloons. Not normal pink and blue either. No. _Pastel_."

"Did Mike transform into a pushover for that event?" Savannah asked playfully. She had met Michael. More serious than Don was, a little shorter, and more of a pretty boy than his younger, taller and handsomer brother. He didn't seem like the type to let people get their way all the time.

"Only for his wife," replied Flack with a shudder as more memories came back. "Oh, and don't get me started on the food!"

"Disastrous?"

"Yuck. The appetizers before we went into this massive, echoing hall was pâté on crispbread. Three different kinds of pâté. No spring rolls or cheese balls in sight. The entree was three pieces of lettuce with goat cheese swamped in so much dressing that it was practically swimming in it and the main was a little steak on this bed of turnip mash. The only good thing about it was the wedding cake. That was it," described Don vigorously, his expressions and gesturing making Savannah giggle.

"Poor you," she murmured sympathetically.

"Damn straight."

With a cheeky smirk, Savannah said, "Don't worry. If we ever decide to get married I promise that the food will never be as bad as that."

That made Don laugh. "I'm sure."

Savannah sat up, straddling her partner and wrapping her arms around his neck, playing with the short hairs at the nape. "We just had a mature conversation about kids and marriage. I think that gives us bonus points."

"I think it does too," he replied. His eyes darkened slightly when his body reacted to the close proximity of his girlfriend's warm, curvy body. Don swallowed, realising that he still responded to her simple beauty the same as ever. Seeing this, Savannah felt that little fizzle of sensation traverse her spine – and she wondered if it could be just that easy to establish intimacy again.

"You know…I think I need some more connection," she murmured.

"What happened to a nice lazy night?"

"You're complaining?"

"No," Don was quick to respond.

Savannah chuckled and her expression shifted to one of complete desire, licking her lips. "I've been feeling kinda lonely…"

"Oh yeah?" he mumbled back, hands drifting up to her waist. "You think you're ready?"

"I don't think." A beat. "I know. I want you to make love to me."

"Can I just say you are very sexy when you're direct?" Don flirted with a twinkle returning to his eyes. He began to stroke up and down her sides, confident in the knowledge that by the expression in her face and the certainty in her body language that Savannah wanted to tumble under the covers once more.

"If you want. I'm just saying what I want. And I want you. I need to _feel_ you again," Savannah whispered, leaning forward and kissing him passionately.

"Admit it. Talking about weddings got you hot," the tall man joked.

Rolling her eyes at his incorrigible nature, the brunette replied, "Shut up and kiss me."

"Couldn't resist. Your wish is my command," Don said, before putting his thoughts into action and scooping her up, standing and carrying Savannah to her bedroom.

"Show off," she chided teasingly, kissing down his neck.

He grinned. "You love it."

"Guilty on that charge, detective."

Don carefully laid her down, following and raising himself above her, taking in her form. Her expression turned tender and she raised her hand to stroke from his collarbone to his waist. Anna was willing and honest in her expression. "I missed this," he whispered, as if the words were too fragile to speak.

"So did I," she replied.

"Never again will we ever let it get that bad."

"Never again," Savannah agreed.

They lost themselves in a kiss to seal the deal.

* * *

**A/N: I had to have them talk about that stuff **_**sometime**_**! Might as well be now. How did you find Savannah's visit to Waverly and her night with Don? Your reviews are wonderful and appreciated as always. **


	29. Favour Returned

**A/N: This will be a happy, then sombre, and then happy chapter again. But there's a reason for this, and I think you'll all like it. Also, this is a LONG CHAPTER so make sure everyone is comfortable. To SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, Kayla and JJ, thanks for the continued reviews guys, it really keeps me going. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** Swearing, mentions of violence/blood/torture (for the case).

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 29 – Favour Returned**

* * *

_You're better than the best  
I'm lucky just to linger in your light  
Cooler than the flip-side of my pillow (that's right)  
Completely unaware  
Nothing can compare to where you send me_

**Uncle Kracker - Smile**

* * *

Savannah returned to the cafe the next day. She had all her staff come in early so she could say a few words in memory of Paula and also to show them that she was back and encourage them that the next stage of the cafe's life was going to be better than ever. Her staff was glad to be back, seeing that she was alright. Led by Jacks, they expressed their enthusiasm that they would all be moving forward.

The staff took the moment to awe at the new back wall complete with words and quotes before rolling up their shirt sleeves and banding together.

They set up the newly redecorated space, working to stock the cool-room and cupboards with food products as the delivery trucks came. Coffee beans were poured into the hopper of the grinder, the machines were all switched on, the windows were wiped down and fresh flowers were placed into a vase of water by the cash register. Savannah watched it all, hope and joy bubbling from her heart to form into a laugh as she saw the progress.

Although she had no cakes made for the cabinet and had no speciality meals prepped for lunch, the moment she unlocked the front door cemented that this is what she loved. This cafe. This was the right moment to return.

Instantly, a person on the sidewalk stopped, did a double take and grinned at the cafe owner who looked out into the surrounding world with an expression of such wonder and delight that it was enchanting. "Ya open for business?" asked the stranger.

"Sure am. Come in for a pick me up," invited Savannah excitedly.

Her first customer since the shooting came in and was happily served by Jacks as Savannah stayed near the front door. Not a minute later, one of her regulars, Mrs. Baker, spotted that her usual haunt was back open and rushed through the doorway. "Miss Anna!" the middle aged woman cried in a pleasantly surprised tone. "You're back! Oh my dear, we have all missed you and your wonderful culinary treats. Are you quite alright?"

The brunette felt her insides go all warm and fuzzy at the genuine attention. She grasped Mrs. Baker's hand in a friendly manner and guided her in. "I'm good, thank you. It's been hard, but I'm here…and I'm making it work," she replied. Savannah tried her best not to get teary, still emotionally vulnerable – but it was such a wonderful, uplifting moment to be so appreciated and reminded that she mattered to more people than just her close circle of family and friends.

"That's all that matters. Ah well, it's wonderful to come here! I absolutely love what you've done to the place. That back wall is simply stunning," complimented Mrs. Baker.

Chuckling, Savannah took her to a seat and took her order, listening amusedly as the middle aged woman regaled her with tales of the other cafes she had visited in her absence and found their wares to be substandard to the ones served at the Comfort Cafe.

Once people realised that the cafe was open for business once more, the surrounding shop owners from either side and from across the road and down the block that regularly came in for her coffees and lunch eagerly descended on the cafe, greeting the tall woman cheerfully and exalting her return and giving well wishes upon her mental and physical state. It got to the point where Savannah decided to take a break, so to speak, and work in the kitchen to fill her woefully empty cake cabinet.

There was a certain peace that came with baking and cooking for Savannah. When she baked, there was a science to formulate the most beautiful sweets and cakes – which was all too rewarding when she saw faces light up in enjoyment of the simplicity of a combination of eggs, flour, milk, sugar, and whatever other ingredients she decided to add in. The method of making food, the rhythm of putting everything together to produce something even more wonderful was relaxing. It was also a way of expressing her creativity. The first thing she decided to make were white chocolate and raspberry muffins. She had eaten them on her fifth day in Connecticut and had made a mental note to make them at the cafe. She was surprised at herself that she hadn't made them earlier for her business – they were sweet and indulgent without being too heavy.

Savannah was free to continue on her baking spree as Bertha, her general cook, was able to handle the lunches and light meals singlehandedly with ease, only requesting the lightest touch of help when more than four dockets were in line.

Enthusiasm about reopening had translated into energy to bake as much as she could.

By the time mid-afternoon came around, Savannah had made the muffins, blueberry friands, pistachio biscuits, citrus ricotta cheesecake, chocolate cake and apple slice. She was just working on some caramelised peach tarts when her relative solitude was interrupted by a pair of warm arms slipping around her waist.

With a squeal of surprise, she whirled around and looked up into the mischievous cerulean eyes of her boyfriend. "Don!" she exclaimed. "You surprised me."

"Nice to know my sneaking skills are still up to par," he replied.

Giggling, Savannah chided teasingly, "They are, but I don't think you would have appreciated if I had jerked my hands up and sent flour flying over the both of us."

"No, I don't think I want to look like Casper the friendly ghost," Flack said thoughtfully. He leant down and kissed her cheek. "You smell good enough to eat."

The double innuendo wasn't lost on the brunette, but she chose to understand the more innocent meaning. "I've been baking."

"I can tell," he said wryly, his gaze darting to the cakes on the various cooling racks on the benches. When he turned a puppy-dog look on Savannah, she rolled her eyes and sighed in a long suffering manner. "Yes, you can have some. Pick two that you want and we'll share. Bottomless pit."

"That's me, babe," Don winked and grabbed a plate from the shelf above and promptly cut a slice of the cheesecake – noting the look of warning from Anna not to cut too large a slice – and a muffin. "Are we eating here or out front?"

"Front. I need to sit down, I've been on my feet since I got here."

"Got caught up?"

"Yeah, but it was so much fun! I feel like this isn't a job sometimes because I simply have too much fun at work," Savannah said with a smile as they went out and sat at their customary table. Jacks was just placing a coffee for each of them down, giving them a wink and returning to behind the counter. There was a real sense of life in the cafe, with four tables full and being served by her zealous serving girls who were trying their best to remind everyone just how good the Comfort Cafe really was.

Don noted all of this and asked Savannah, "Have things been this good all day?"

She nodded. "Yes. From the second I opened the doors. My regulars have come back, and I've got some new customers coming in because of the changed look. And that was just what I noticed before I hid in the kitchen to get in touch with my inner domestic goddess."

Flack smirked and ate a forkful of the cheesecake. As he chewed, his eyes darkened slightly and on his next blink, his lids shuttered for a few seconds to savour. "Mmm," he hummed.

"Good?"

"Hah, good is not even the word," said Don. "I mean, it's heaven on a plate."

Savannah, picking at her freshly baked muffin in foodie satisfaction, murmured, "I know. I think I've just discovered my new favourite thing to make."

After tasting it, Flack disagreed slightly. "That's nice, but cheesecake is always going to be my favourite."

"Wasn't cake your first word?"

"After 'ma' and 'da,' yep!" he replied cheekily. He exaggerated his expression into one of complete bliss, sending Savannah into bright, happy peals of laughter. It made Don feel like his heart was jumping crazily around in his chest when he heard the unrestrained joy in that laugh, tweaking at his heartstrings. "I'm glad you're holding up okay."

"I'm glad you care so much," Savannah said contentedly, playfully feeding him more of the cheesecake. "I'm also going to say that you were right. I did need that extra day yesterday to take a step back and reassess where I'm going."

"See, I can be right sometimes," quipped Don.

"Only this once," she bantered.

"Oh, only this once?"

"That's all I'll agree with anyway."

Chuckling lowly, Don leaned forward and stole the last of the muffin and cake in one hit and popped them in his mouth, making Savannah cry, "Hey!"

"That's for saying I was right only this once," he countered. He waggled his eyebrows at her in challenge, wondering if she'd take the bait. In return, she raised a single eyebrow in a way that meant she was plotting something. Suddenly, Flack felt the collar of his shirt grabbed firmly and was pulled forward into a heated kiss. He smiled into it and got carried away in the sensations. When released, he asked, "What was that?"

"My consolation prize," Savannah said.

"Oh. Not bad," Don replied. They exchanged smiles.

At that moment, Flack's phone went off. They both groaned as they realised what that meant. "Duty calls," he grumbled.

"That's fair," Savannah assured, watching as he pulled a face as he checked his messages. "Bad one?"

"I'm pretty sure I didn't order a DB floater near Battery Park with my cake, but it's what I'm given," the detective deadpanned. He stood, Savannah following him to the door. "I'll call you when I'm finished. That is, if it's not too late, we could do something later."

"And if we don't, don't be too hard on yourself. I'm okay now…I love you," Savannah said affectionately as they reached the door.

Don smiled again and lightly stroked down the side of her face. "Love you more."

That made her entire being glow with cheerfulness. "Go and have a good workout with your sarcasm," she farewelled.

"Oh, don't worry, I will," he said knowingly.

* * *

A week later, the balance of life had returned to Don and Anna's lives. There were little, marked changes that signified how closer bonded they were after their traumatic experiences and the healing from them. They were a little more affectionate in public – although not to the point of sugary sappy sweetness – and rarely spent more than a night apart as they alternated staying over at each other's apartments. While Savannah did have the occasional night terror, they were quickly soothed by the ever attentive Don when they talked about it.

Flack was reflecting on the little warm encounters they had as he sped to the latest crime scene. He found that thinking about his bubbly girlfriend when driving made sure he didn't drive like a crazy formula 1 racer. When he got there, he knew that this one was bad.

It was rare to get every one of Mac's core CSI team at a scene – usually one or two was back at the lab waiting for evidence to pour in and start documenting and entering it into their systems. It was an indicator of how bad a scene was that Mac, Jo, Danny, Lindsay, Sheldon, and even Adam were there. They were receiving their orders from the serious lead CSI, crime scene kits hanging at the ready from their hands. Flack would catch up with them in a minute. He quickly went to the two officers who had obviously been the first on scene to this long, narrow warehouse and jotted down all of the details they gave him.

By the time he was done, he had filled up five pages in his little memo book. Flack frowned at it, realising that it would mean a ten page report by the time he was finished here.

Mac came up to him and mentioned, "We're going to go on first walk through. I want you at the lead with me."

"Would I be anywhere else?" Flack asked.

Mac just gave a tight smile, acknowledging by his silence that it was unlikely that Flack would ever not be with the lead.

They went in first. Before he stepped through the rusty door, he noticed that Danny and Lindsay had the perimeter and that the rest were waiting on he and Mac to do the first walk through.

The coppery tang of blood was in the air and both men took no more than ten steps before the entirety of the crime became visible.

"Whoa…this one's a definite sicko," Flack stated.

Three young men lay on the floor, evenly spaced apart before a metal butcher's table. They were all slight of frame, Caucasian in appearance, and all had their eyes gouged out with some kind of blunt tool. The similarities didn't stop there. They were all naked, a bullet hole in each abdomen where the belly button would be, cuts an inch apart going up the length of each arm. The worst was that their genitals had been mutilated as well. The blood pools were congealed and there was spatter along the walls, indicating that for part of the torture, the men had been alive.

The metal table held bloodied instruments that looked like they had inflicted the grievous wounds. A long handled screwdriver, a carving knife and a small pocketknife. However, there was no gun.

Mac had been scanning the rest of the area for evidence since he had walked in, but Flack was focussed on the fact that there was no bloody footprints leading away from the area. A triple homicide like this, usually there was a blood trail from the bodies. Maybe the other CSI's could lift some other prints with that lifter of theirs.

He uneasily broke the silence. "I guess it's safe to say that there's no ID on them. Unless, you know, it's under their bodies."

The older detective gave him a brief look but then turned and beckoned to Jo and the others gathered at the doorway. "Come in, but I want Hawkes first. Follow mine and Flack's footsteps," he ordered in his no-nonsense boss tone.

They did so.

Hawkes, seemingly unbothered by the grisly state of the bodies, immediately dived into his kit to grab a pair of heavy duty booties to place over his shoes so he could get closer to the unfortunate victims, gloves, and a large thermometer with an especially sharp point to pierce through flesh to retrieve the victim's liver temperature. Flack winced as he heard the blood squelch underneath the doctor's feet as he kneeled close to the head of the left body. It felt even more like a horror movie with that sound.

Adam, watching on, shuddered.

Mac caught onto this and quietly said to him, "Adam, I want you to go back to that door and dust for prints, and then make your way back here with the electro-static dust lifter, try to recover some shoeprints that may be the killer's."

As the lab tech went to do his bidding, he gestured to the metal table and told Jo, "They're all yours."

Attempting to bring some warmth to the sombre atmosphere, Jo replied, "Thanks Mac. What I always wanted for a present."

Mac indulged her with a very slight tipping up of the lips.

"Eye sockets are too damaged to indicate petechial haemorrhaging. But lividity is fixed – these guys weren't moved from when they died," Sheldon informed them, and then carefully photographed the body before reaching for the hand and lifting it. "Add that in with the temp I got, I'd say they've been here less than two days. Still in slight rigor and putrefaction hasn't set in."

"But no exact timeline yet," clarified Flack.

"No, Sid'll be able to tell us that. I can tell you that they all died at around the same time. The blood pools have the same consistency and from a quick assessment visually, their condition was the same in regards to rigor and lividity," Hawkes went on. "No visible signs of struggle."

Flack nodded, and made another note. "Okay, I'm going to go do some digging on the owner of this place and the places on every side. I'll keep you all posted."

"Same here," Mac confirmed, setting down his case and pulling out his gloves.

With a final look at the scene, Flack left, a hard lump of dread in his gut. He had a feeling that this was going to be one of those cases that it took longer than a few days for the evidence to add up.

As it turned out he had been right.

It took a week and a half after the first discovery of the scene for the evidence to finally be completed and collated, and only then could the CSI's make sense of it and hand it over to him to run with on the suspects he had rounded up in the course of his investigation.

What they had discovered was that the three men, Jaden Penme, Angelo Reccio, and Dustin McDuke (their identities had been discovered through the Missing Persons Database) had one common denominator. They were all homosexual and frequented a gay bar/strip club in a seedy part of midtown. 'The Cocksure.' It had been the primary base of interest and there had been four prime suspects: the bouncer who had been given two warnings of taking a few liberties with the searching persons for weapons part of his job – two of the victims had complained about his methods; the bartender, who felt neglected by the men that frequented the bar; the owner, who perved on anything with legs as evidenced by his lecherous look at Jo when she had questioned him; and the lead stripper Stallion, who had been popular with all three victims.

Flack had handled the interviews of all but the owner and his opinion on the matter was that any one of them could have done it. They were all hiding something – his bullshit meter had said so.

It had been frustrating to know that one of the men had committed such a crime.

But when he finally got all of the information from a grim faced Danny, the taller man had raised an eyebrow and asked his friend, "Please tell me you made this up."

"Afraid not," confirmed Danny.

The seasoned detective shook his head. "So that's why there weren't any bloody footprints. This is enough to get a warrant for more."

An hour later, a young man by the name of Quillan Jones sat nervously in the interview room under the burning gazes of Mac and Flack.

"How much did they pay you Quillan?" Mac asked him. He already knew the answer – it had been a clear paper trail once the warrant had been given to Flack to take a deeper look into the financial records of the suspects.

Quillan's full lower lip wobbled and his eyes – a deep soulful brown that would have seemed wide and innocent if the detectives hadn't known the truth. His pretty – not handsome, but almost girlish – features turned to woe. "I'm sorry, there has to be a mistake," he murmured.

"Oh sure, tell me how this mistake happened then," Flack demanded, pulling a piece of paper from the case folder and placing it on the table, showing that Stallion aka Blair Benson and Craig Leon, the barman, had each deposited $10 000 each into Quillan's bank account three days ago. "I mean, was this just some bank teller having a bit of fun in her boredom between customers?"

Quillan saw it and again attempted to defend, "They will deny it."

"Well, Craig is, but Blair was a little more accommodating, on the condition that his arresting officer was good eye candy," said the taller detective, circling the table and standing over the thin, frail looking Quillan in comparison. "This was your way of getting that 'dream' job as a gay stripper, huh? Doing a favour for the Stallion and the barman."

Confronted with the picture of manliness before him, Jones felt his tongue loosening and the words tumbled out. "It was my initiation."

Mac and Don exchanged a look of matching disgust as Flack moved away, Quillan looking a bit put out as he did so. Mac asked firmly, "How did you lure them there?"

"…I want a lawyer," the young man said, suddenly looking afraid, realising that he had been discovered.

"That's within your rights," agreed Mac, his mouth set in a tight line of tension.

"But we can fill in the rest of the info," Flack said. "Blair and Craig had the weapons and the drugs to knock the vic's out so you could go along with the so-called initiation without too much fuss. Craig gave you his gun to use but he wasn't smart – he didn't file the serial number down enough. And you I'm sure lured your victims there with the promise of a little special show having got their numbers from Blair. Only they got more than what they bargained for – you stripped them, and took everything from them. We know that because we found each victim's ID's hidden in the back seat of your car. You then knocked them out with ether."

"Which a tox report confirms," added Mac.

"You knew that Blair wanted them dead because Jaden and Dustin had attacked him one night, and Craig wanted Angelo for not returning his affections – and once you took care of their problems, they'd be indebted to you." He paused and let his cold eyes bore into the flat brown ones. "Gotta say, for someone whose only run in with the law has been a dash of public indecency, you escalated quick. That takes someone who's messed up in the head to do what you did to those three men."

He then pulled out his handcuffs and began reading the Miranda rights in a cadence like a funeral march. When he got to putting them on Quillan, he quipped, "Don't go getting excited on me now, I've got a girlfriend."

Once Jones was booked, Flack made his way back to the interview rooms. While he and Mac had interviewed Quillan, the rest of the team had watched on from the other side of the one-way glass. He met up with them and noticed the downtrodden mood in all of them. Even the usually upbeat Adam looked like someone had kicked his puppy.

Then again, the past week and a half had been hard for all of them, especially with public pressure to solve the murders.

"Is everyone off now?" he asked the group.

When he received nods in reply, an idea sprang to Flack's head. "You know what we need guys? A pick me up."

"What are you thinking?" asked Lindsay with her customary curiosity.

A slight smile crept over his handsome features as he replied, "How about I call Anna and we can all have a dinner party at the cafe or something? We need to relax for a moment. We've just solved this massive case – I think we all deserve it."

Jo, ever the considerate one, added, "Only if she feels like it. If she's had a big day…"

"I know," replied Don.

He pulled out his phone and leaned up against the wall, the CSI's watching him as he called Savannah.

"Hey stranger."

Instantly, her voice made Don grin and he immediately felt the darkness get chased away. "Hey beautiful. How are you?"

"Yeah, good. A busy day today, but I'm almost finished up." Her perceptiveness kicked in then as her mind registered just how worn down Don sounded. "What's wrong? Something with a case and you need to talk something out or do you need me to do something?" she asked.

"You could say it's both. I'm just wondering…can you keep those doors open for a special party of eight CSI's, detectives and ME's?"

Extrapolating the situation with the clues she had been given, Savannah translated, "So that case you've been working on has either taken a bad turn or you've finished and you and my favourite team want to come in to have dinner at the cafe to save making a mess at someone's apartment. How's my detective skills coming along?"

The light joke made Flack chuckle. "They're pretty good. And whatever you want to make, even if it's macaroni and cheese. We'll be grateful."

"Oh, it'll be a pleasure to have everyone around my tables," reassured Savannah. "I'll get started right now!"

"Okay, we should all be there in about half an hour or so, so you have plenty of time. Oh, and Anna…thanks."

"Just think of it as a favour returned," she replied warmly, before hanging up.

Don turned to the rest of the team, who appeared to be looking better at the mention of a dinner together. "We're in," he said.

"Yay," muttered Adam loudly.

"We've gotta go pick up Lucy, so we better clock off now. I mean, if Mac doesn't mind," Danny said, seeming to remember at the last moment he needed his boss's approval.

"No, I don't. Because right now, we're all clocking off and we're all going to spend some time together outside work. Someone go make sure that Sid comes with us, he's overtime by two hours anyway," Mac directed.

They split in their different directions, fulfilling whatever steps they needed so that they could reconvene at the Comfort Cafe.

* * *

Savannah wiped a hand over her forehead, expelling a sigh before continuing to work on the meat ragù sauce she had whipped up out of the leftover roast beef she had been slicing up to use in sandwiches that day and the rich passata she had been using for the lasagne. To add a twist, she added in some leftover zucchini and capsicum to the simmering sauce while a massive pot of spaghetti cooked. She had also prepared a quick garlic bread which was in the oven warming, and a large bowl of salad was sitting ready on the three tables she and Jacks had pushed together before Jacks had left to meet with some friends at the movies.

It had pushed her to make a big meal in such a short amount of time, but she had felt compelled to do so. Don had sounded exhausted and in need of a little TLC. And if he was asking for the CSI team…then they all needed some comfort and love. It was the least she could do after what they had done for her in support after the shooting and her trip up north and subsequent return.

She was just draining the spaghetti into a colander when she heard the familiar voices of her friends enter her cafe. A few moments later, Don pushed through the door to the kitchen. He had a simple sky blue button up with the sleeves rolled up and black jeans on, his customary work wear these days, and he looked drawn.

If this is what he looked like, Savannah wondered how bad everyone else was like out there.

No matter. This was going to be a nice dinner – she would make sure of it if she had to.

"Savannah," Don murmured, going straight to her and waiting until her hands were free before pulling her to him and capturing her lips in a needy kiss. She grasped his arms to steady herself and felt his desperation for a bit of softness in a day of harshness. They broke off before it could get more heated – that could come later – and he gave Savannah a tight squeeze before asking, "What can I help with?"

"The garlic bread. It's in the oven, all it needs to be done is to be served. And, for those who aren't driving, there's a bottle of that merlot I use for cooking sometimes in the back of the cool-room," she informed him as she returned her attention to the main meal. She split the pasta evenly between bowls and ladled copious amounts of the ragù over each lovingly. When her partner came out the back to help her out, she reminded him to get the parmesan or else Danny would complain.

She began taking the bowls out, smiling a wide, welcoming smile to her friends seated around the conjoined tables.

"Whaddup!" Adam greeted first, her appearance bringing out his youthful exuberance.

"Savannah!"

"You angel."

"Anna, it smells great."

They were weary and it was easy to see it had been a long, hard day, but as soon as she greeted them and favoured them all with a smile as she placed plates of food in front of them, Savannah could see the mood in the room perk up – evidenced by their greetings.

When she went out the back to retrieve the last two bowls of food – that of hers and Don's – he stopped her before she went out and said sincerely, "You're amazing for doing this."

"I'm just being a good friend," she countered softly.

He smirked a little and murmured, "That's my girl."

They went back out together, sitting side by side in the centre of the table between Adam and Jo.

As Savannah looked around, she realised that this was the first time since her 30th birthday that the whole team had gone out together for something that wasn't work related. She smiled and wished that the love and affection she felt for these wonderful hardworking people could burst out of her and touch each and every one of their hearts like a physical hug. For now, she would settle for her warm and consoling food to fill their empty bellies.

Conversation was lively. By unspoken agreement, any topic about cases and work was shoved aside in favour of debates over the best bands of the 80's, to all attention being on little Lucy Messer when she declared that the pasta was almost as good as Nonna Messer's, and chatting about the latest in pop culture.

The best part was that with every second that passed, it was like the memory of every terrible thing they had seen was rubbed away due to the abundance of good food, conversation, and friends.

Mac watched from the head of the table as everyone connected on a personal level and then looked to the person who had drawn them all together here from her good will. Savannah, who was playing with Lucy so that Lindsay could finish her own meal. There was an effervescence about her that was stronger than ever, so much that it was like sunshine in the room although it was long past sundown.

Quietly, he stood and tapped his glass filled with wine with his fork.

The light _ting_ sound easily got everyone's attention.

"I just wanted to say that everyone pulled in good, solid work this week. We did very well and I'm truly proud of our progress as a team," he said stoically, favouring each person with eye contact in a sign of respect. "And that it's nice to take the time to be appreciative of the people we have. Anna…you have my thanks for organising this on such short notice. I don't know if anyone has ever told you, but you are one of those silent heroes as much as those who donate money to charity or people in our kind of jobs."

"Aw, it was nothing, Mac, but thanks anyway," beamed Savannah.

All attention was on her now, and she felt compelled to say something as well. As Mac sat, she said in a clear, confident tone, "This is really just a sign of _my_ appreciation. You guys…" she stilled, picking her words carefully. "Not only is family those who you're related to by blood, but those who come into your life and they change it for the better. There's a kinship and loyalty there. And right here, around this table, is my family. You guys have been my friends and my support and you know I'm always here for you. I don't care if you don't say the same, but I consider everyone here part of my family."

A silence followed where everyone smiled at each other and at her.

"So…anyone else here want to make an Oscar acceptance speech?" Danny finally broke the quiet in his teasing tone.

They all chuckled, and Savannah rolled her eyes at him. "Trust you Danny to say something like that."

"Only because another moment and we would have started crying," he shrugged cheekily.

"Can I just remind you of all the-"

"Blackmail you have on me." Danny went from gleeful to pouting. "I know, I know."

Don chuckled and draped his arm around Savannah's shoulders, wanting a little bit of contact. He knew that Savannah had meant every word of that. And it was true. These were the people they spent the most time around. In a way, Danny was more his brother than his brother Michael was. There were certain things you went through and ended up being friends by default. This group of CSI's, lab techs, and detectives were pretty close. While he would never admit it aloud like his girlfriend did, they were a part of his family too.

After all, who else would care about you this much?

He felt Savannah lean her head on his shoulder, a contended aura about her. In this moment, Don realised that he was truly complete with everyone here, and especially with this courageous, wonderful woman in his arms.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! The muse went all out! :D I stayed up until 2 in the morning I was that into it. Reviews are very much appreciated. They really are. Especially to motivate me for the final two chapters….:D hope you guys have an amazing day/night.**


	30. On The Rooftop

**A/N: A chapter I think most of you have been waiting for. Thank you to Leslie Emm, Smuffly, SomebodyWhoCares, Kayla, JJ, and Forest Angel for the amazing reviews to last chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one just as much.**

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** Slight sappiness? Fluff.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Chapter 30 – On the Rooftop**

* * *

_If it's love  
And we decide that it's forever  
No one else could do it better  
If it's love  
And we're two birds of a feather  
Then the rest is just whatever_

**Train – If it's Love**

* * *

_Two months and three weeks later – 31__st__ of August_

* * *

It was the last day of summer. A bright, sunny day that had transitioned to a cloudless afternoon. As if knowing that it was the season's last hurrah before the lushness of spring, the sunset was particularly beautiful, staining the sky with various warm hues of orange, ruby, and the barest hint of peach.

Savannah, hair loose and smiling contentedly, sat in her rooftop garden. She hadn't brought her gardening tools, choosing instead to admire the flowers and vegetation that she had planted and tended to, as well as that of the other tenants. She was dressed in a pretty white blouse and jeans – requests made by Don. He had texted her not too long ago and requested she wait here in nice, casual clothing, saying that he had a surprise for her.

She honestly had no clue as to what kind of surprise. It could have been like the Maroon 5 tickets he had gotten her for their first Christmas or something exciting like that.

The sound of familiar footsteps alerted Savannah that Don was here.

He entered the garden, a wide, charmingly dopey smile on his face.

"Hey you," she said, standing up and meeting his eyes easily. They were a brighter blue than usual, telling her that he was in a really good mood. "You look awfully happy."

"Just remembering last night."

That simple statement prompted a blush from the fair skinned brunette. "Did you tell your neighbours sorry for the noise from me? I didn't realise I woke them up."

"Yes. You were pretty loud," Don replied with a distinct male pride. "But I'm glad we got to go out to Melvoy's last night. And you looked confident and very sexy up on that stage doing your best Christina Aguilera impression."

Savannah gave him a crooked smile and admitted, "Probably why we both got so turned on."

"Mmm. It was great," he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her in so that they were touching. Her arms slid up to wrap around his neck as they exchanged a chaste kiss. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I've got the day off tomorrow," Don announced.

"So do I," replied Savannah.

There was a spark in those eyes. "I know. That why I got it off."

Instinctually knowing that he was hiding something – a good something – the brunette asked, "Alright, why'd you call me up here and what exactly are you planning? You always have your reasons for doing whatever it is you are doing."

"Mmm, I was thinking of making you wait."

"I don't want to wait."

"You don't want to wait?" he teased.

"Don," Savannah murmured. She really wanted to know what he was planning.

"Okay, okay," Don complied, releasing her. "Stay here. I'll bring it in."

Curiosity peaked, Savannah resisted the urge to go against his request and follow those broad shoulders out of the garden to get an early glimpse of whatever surprise it was. To curb the temptation, she placed her hands over her eyes, letting her sense of hearing take over. She heard as Don returned, and by the sound of his footsteps, whatever it was didn't change his regular pace.

"Savannah," he said in a quietly inviting tone.

She took her hands away and just melted at the sight of what was held in his hands. "Oh, Don…" she whispered happily.

There in Don's hands, a pink bow attached to the purple leather collar, was a German Shepherd puppy. She was looking around, the little legs wiggling, the black and tan fur shining in the afternoon sunlight. Don was beaming as he took in her reaction. He relished in that look of pure joy and that suddenly formed attachment to the creature in his arms. "A little gift for us."

"She's gorgeous!" Savannah gasped, gently taking the soft pup from Don and cuddling it close to her chest. The puppy curiously snuffled at her hands as they stroked her head and ears, her little tail wagging. "Oh!" she exclaimed again, instantly besotted with the dog and its loving brown eyes, the predominantly black face and friendliness.

"Considering you take care of everyone, what's one more thing, huh?" the normally hard talking detective teased lightly.

"Thank you," Savannah enthused, her grey green eyes lighting up with gratitude. "She's a sweetie, isn't she? Where'd you get her?"

Don shrugged. "Minty, one of the sniffer dogs, had a litter a few months ago. I went past to take a quick look and Rodgers, the guy who looks after them at the K9 compound, asked if I knew anyone who wanted a runty German Shepherd. She is pretty small compared to the rest and I thought, you know, it would be nice to have a pet. After all, I'm allergic to cats."

The brunette's mind turned to more important matters. "Isn't this breed of dog really active? Don, we work a lot. Are we going to be able to provide properly so that she doesn't go stir-crazy?" she argued.

"They are, but the super's son in my building does dog walking and there's a section on the rooftop for the tenants dogs," he countered, having already done his research. "We always go for a walk in Central Park every week so it won't be too much of an ask to go a bit more often to exercise her. Not to mention, we can also bring her to my parent's place for a few days if we're too busy at any point in time – they've got a backyard. My apartment has more space than what I need, and I think between the two of us, we can surely raise a puppy." He thought of another positive to owning a dog. "And besides, you won't be lonely when I come home late."

'_Assuming I'm living with you, that is_,' Savannah thought, but she had a feeling that topic would be broached in a few minutes. The sensation of a wet nose pushing into her hand brought her mind to her new pet. "Okay. We'll give her a shot. Speaking of which…we can't keep calling it 'her.' A puppy needs a name," she said.

"Something tough."

"So I guess Blossom is out of the question?"

Don kept his face blank to hide the surprise and slight horror at owning a dog called _Blossom_. "Well, if you really want to call her that…"

Savannah wrinkled her nose and then laughed. "I'm messing with you. No, I think she needs a tough name too."

"Cleo? Short for Cleopatra. She was pretty kickass in history," suggested Don.

"Hmm, no, I think a tougher sounding name. Roxy?"

"Too generic."

"Good point."

"This is harder than we thought," said Don, reaching forward and joining his lover in petting the German Shepherd.

Savannah chuckled, "Who knew? I'm thinking about other names. Xena, Sheba, Athena, Nova, Rocca-"

"Diana means 'tough' in a dialect of Irish," Don broke in helpfully. "I do like Sheba and Nova though. I think Xena is a bit too tough for her."

"She is a sweetie, but something tells me that she's going to be a tough girl when she gets bigger. Isn't that right sweetie?" Savannah cooed to the puppy.

"Careful," warned Don, "she might think 'sweetie' is her name."

Humming in thought, Savannah said quietly, "I like Diana."

"You do?"

"I do," she confirmed, setting the puppy on the ground and watching her as she found herself in new surroundings. She sniffed along the ground, tail in the air as she investigated the new smells and sights of this world. It made the couple grin.

"Diana it is then," affirmed Don. "But that's not the only thing I have to show you." He took Savannah's hand and led her outside the garden to rest of the rooftop area. The sunset was the perfect scenery to the bunch of multicoloured carnations in every shade save for yellow, and a large violet candle lit on the prettiest of the antique side tables that littered the rooftop. A comfortable chair was placed next to the iron wrought table invitingly.

"Okay Mister, what are you up to?" Savannah demanded, turning to him.

He just grinned and led her to the chair. Once she was seated, Don said, "It's just a little backdrop. You know, for the puppy, and for this offer I want to make. I want you to move in with me Savannah. Please."

His tone softened at the end, that slight vulnerability shining through, knowing that he had asked the same question once before and had lovingly been refused. Savannah, instead of balking at the idea like she had when Don had first asked her to, found her heartbeat speed up and her smile returning, beaming happily up at him. "For real?"

"As much as I am," he replied.

She nodded, excitement building up in a bubble of happiness underneath her ribcage – she felt she might burst. "This time I'm saying yes," she confirmed.

Don's goofy, exuberant grin returned and he bent down to kiss the top of her head as an outward expression of his happiness. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'll miss my garden but I'm sure my Aunt will let me visit whenever I want. I think it's time for us Don. We're ready to see if we can share our lives together," Savannah said, eyes shining with joy.

"Good. This is really, really great, but you see, one thing I forgot to mention about this one of a kind offer...there are a few strings attached," Don said slyly.

Savannah raised a questioning eyebrow as she peered into his eyes, which were relaxed and mimicking her happiness. "Oh? Like what, being your personal food slave? Because I'm pretty sure I'm that already."

"Funny, but no," he replied. "You see, I want to discuss this problem with you. Something with my left hand isn't right."

Don extended the hand towards her, palm down, and she frowned, wondering where this is going. "Okay, I don't see anything wrong," she murmured uncertainly.

He was smiling as if he knew the world's greatest joke and was about to reveal it to her. "I see something wrong. You see this skin here? It's all the same colour," Don said, his voice lowering slightly as the fingers of his other hand traced over his knuckles. "And the thing is, I have a real problem with that. And especially...I could do without a tan on my left hand where my fourth finger meets my knuckle."

Savannah swore her heart just stopped when she realised the implications of that sentence. She instantly felt light headed and felt warm all over like she had just sunk into a hot bath. A gasp escaped from her lips and her heart began to beat again, a little faster than before. Anna was suddenly glad she was seated, for her knees felt like jelly and she was sure if she stood, she would collapse from the surprise.

Don watched her reaction, the nervousness that had crept up on him when he had set up the flowers and the candle slowly dissipating. All he could feel was that strong flame of hope surging underneath his chest and the conviction that it was time – he wanted Savannah to be his in every way. The words he was about to say were some of the most important that he would ever say, he could practically taste it as they rolled off his tongue. His expression turning tender, Don bent to one knee in front of her, pulling a small box out of his jeans pocket. Savannah took in a deep, shuddering breath, controlling the urge to start hyperventilating as she tried to reconcile that this was _really_ happening. She was being proposed to.

"Something about you going away gave me a good kick to the head. I realised that I can't live my life without you. Not anymore. You're the only woman who can drive me crazy and the only woman who captures my attention. You've made me love in ways I haven't thought possible." He paused, seeing her eyes shine with love for him, and he almost dropped the jewellery box as he opened it. "I love you. I know what guys mean when they say their other half. So will you be my other half? Will you become mine forever so we can drive each other nuts? Will you marry me? Because I can't picture my life without you in it anymore."

Savannah felt like the balance of the entire world depended on this answer.

"Yes...Yes Don, I want to marry you," she breathed, smiling so wide that her cheeks hurt. They were still, beaming at each other with hearts brimming with emotion before Savannah lunched herself off the chair, tackling Don to the ground in a hug.

"Oof!" he expelled, laughing loudly as Savannah landed on top of him and kept saying, "Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!" Their lips met, celebrating the elation they felt, passion and joy colliding with great force.

Savannah sat up, gazing down at Don with so much fulfilment and happiness that her eyes shone as if they were about to cry happy tears. She controlled them well and said in a tender voice, "I love you. I…God, there aren't even the words…I'm just so blown away."

He hadn't stopped smiling since their lips disengaged, looking more charming than ever. He brought up the ring box and said, "Well, since you're still deciding what to say about how awesome and amazing this all is, maybe you could put on the ring."

She finally got a good look at the ring – almost an afterthought to her euphoria. Savannah laughed as she carefully took the ring out of the felt holding it, admiring it and especially the fact that Don had chosen a ring that befitted her perfectly. It was a platinum band with a beautiful brilliant cut diamond in the centre. It wasn't huge, but she had never wanted a massive rock sticking up from her finger. It was flanked on either side by two stones of pure amethyst. Extending around the band from the amethyst were engraved vines, with tiny emeralds being the 'leaves' of the vines. On the inside of the band was another engraving.

It simply said, '_To my Edesia, forever yours. Don.'_

"It's perfect. Don…it's perfect," Savannah whispered, bending down to kiss him again, pushing the ring into his hand so he could slide it onto her fourth finger of her left hand. When she felt it on, it was like magic. She separated from him again to awe at the elegant ring adorning her finger, a promise of what was to come. "When did you…when did you go out and get it thinking, 'Yep, this is it?'"

Don's blue eyes, warm with affection, were shielded from her view for a few moments as he closed them, a rare blush going to his cheeks. He kinda expected this question, but still, it made him feel sappy. Well, more of a sap than setting all this up – but it was worth it to see that look on Savannah's face like she was going to sing and shout to the very tops of the world that they were now engaged and that the world better watch out.

"You remember that case I had about three months ago with the three guys and the gay bar? And the team and I, we all worked ourselves to the ground and you made that dinner for all of us? It was that night while you were giving me a massage to loosen me up enough to rest that I realised that during the dinner and the rest of the night, I wanted this to be fully set in stone. I've never felt so complete. And I wanted you to stay with me so badly that my heart ached when you left for the cafe the next morning," Don explained lowly, opening up his eyes to meet the grey-green ones he adored so much. "What was worse was that I went into the bathroom to get ready for work and I saw your hair care stuff next to mine on the ledge in the shower – and it hit me. I wanted that to be permanent." He reached up and cupped the side of his fiancée's face in a familiar intimate gesture. "Two days later I went to the jeweller that made the necklace and earrings I got for you and I worked with him on that design. That's a one of a kind piece you've got there."

"Aw, look, you do have a really romantic side," teased Anna.

"Shh, make sure no one knows," winked Don.

"Oh, you," she murmured. She squealed slightly as he abruptly sat up, clutching at her back and laying his lips in a firm, hot brand over her own. Instantly Savannah was lost to the domineering passion and reciprocated in kind. She wasn't sure how long they kissed, but they were interrupted from their intimate embrace when a little, wet nose pushed against her thigh.

They broke apart, Savannah giggling and Don frowning as Diana sat there, looking adorably cute with her big brown puppy eyes looking at them, tiny tail wagging.

"She already interrupting us and we haven't even moved in together yet," Don groused.

That made the brunette laugh harder. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure once I move in, something tells me that we're going to christen every single surface of that apartment in celebration. Might even put on some mood music to start everything up. That song 'I'll be your baby tonight' will get me going, sugar," she purred seductively.

"Who says we need to wait until you move in to start celebrating? We did just get engaged didn't we?" he countered with a questioning eyebrow.

She hummed, "I love the way you think."

"I know."

"I think we should bring Diana down to Jacks's apartment and let her coo over her for a few hours while we do a little celebrating," Savannah suggested. "And I think I need to show you just how much appreciation I have for you right now."

"I love the way you think," Don replied, copying her.

They gazed at each other and then laughed, Savannah carefully scooping up Diana in her arms as Don led her from the rooftop and down to her apartment.

It was time to celebrate.

* * *

**A/N: Aw, wasn't that sweet? What did you think of how Don proposed and the puppy and the ring? I'd love to hear your responses. Much appreciated guys. That would be my ideal way to be proposed to ;D My muse felt like some happy endings and sweetness. **


	31. Epilogue: Union

**Hey, JJ, here's the answer as to whether you'll see the wedding ;D Guys, this is another longish chapter. I also wanted to release it early as a treat for you all. To SomebodyWhoCares, Smuffly, Leslie Emm, and JJ, your reviews lift me higher. **

**Characters: **Det. Don Flack Jr/OC – Savannah 'Anna' Patia Cormier, Danny/Lindsay, Mac Taylor, and other members of CSI NY.

**Set: **Mostly AU after season 6.

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** HAPPY FLUFFY SAPPY THINGS! YAY!

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit. I do not own the song or song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter that inspire me. But I wish that there were a few clones of Don Flack…mmmm….Oh, but I do own Savannah Cormier.

* * *

**Finding Our Way – Epilogue – Union**

* * *

_Forever can never be long enough for me  
To feel like I've had long enough with you  
Forget the world now we won't let them see  
But there's one thing left to do_  
**Train – Marry Me**

* * *

"I expected you to be more nervous than this, man."

Don Flack adjusted the purple rose in his buttonhole and his bow tie to make sure it was perfectly symmetrical in all ways before shrugging in response to Danny's question. What was there to be nervous about? Today was the day. His day. His and Savannah's day and by the end of it they would be Mr. and Mrs. Flack. While he was a little nervous about making sure he wouldn't mess up his vows and also resist the urge to spirit his to-be bride away and ravage her with all of his passion once he saw her, deep down, he knew he was ready to have this union of their lives. Heck, he had been ready for this moment since they had announced their engagement to all of their family and friends.

He smirked in remembrance at some of the reactions they had received.

His sister Sam had screamed in excitement and hugged them until they were gasping for breath. Michael had just given him a few words of stoic congratulations over the phone. His parents…had been interesting. Don recalled just how bewildered he and Savannah were when suddenly Olivia and Donald Flack had stopped their jubilation to remind each other of a bet they had made. There had been a debate over who had won.

Olivia contended hotly that she was victorious because she declared that Don had proposed within a year of making the bet, before December. Her husband refuted that she didn't win the _whole_ bet because Don and Savannah hadn't yet set a date for the wedding but the couple insisted it wouldn't be in the next six months. Therefore, Olivia wasn't entitled to the full reward of their wager. When Savannah had mentioned that they had been talking about getting hitched a year after the engagement, the elder Flack had made a noise of satisfaction and pointed out that he had bet that Don and Anna would marry about a year after the proposal happened. It was like watching a verbal tennis match, with serves and rallies and lobs. Don wished that he had popcorn in that moment, because watching his parents argue was entertainment – he had learned from the best after all.

Olivia and Donald eventually agreed that they would just share dinner at the Savoy for the fun of it and the bet would be fulfilled that way.

Telling the CSI's had been fun. They had all gone for another dinner together and they had announced it then. Each person's reaction had been different.

Mac had smiled and offered congratulations in a mature, satisfied manner.

Jo had beamed and clapped her hands in delight. "Can I help plan the wedding?" she had asked, getting Anna's nod of approval.

"About time!" had come from Danny as he reached over and heartily patted Don on the back in celebration.

"I'm so happy for you both!" Lindsay had enthused.

Adam had shyly extended his congratulations as well and had asked, "So, if you don't mind my being nosy, how'd it happen?"

"That's a little personal, don't you think Adam?" Sheldon cut in before either Don or Savannah could reply.

Savannah just laughed as Adam flushed in embarrassment. "It's okay Sheldon, I wasn't offended by the question. We both aren't, we are fully prepared for an interrogation from you guys. Although we had expected Sid to be here too…" She reached across the table to grasp Adam's hand in assurance. "I don't mind you asking."

"I was totally romantic," Don boasted, cutting in. "Picture the scene. Daniel's on the Upper East Side, a bottle of Dom Perignon, and us two mooning at each other over the sea bass and the lamb shank with polenta. There's jazz in the air, and we can't wait to go out for dancing later." He grinned at his fiancée as she just barely managed to keep a straight face at his storytelling. "And then, as the chocolate soufflé came out, there I was on the ground, asking her to be my wife."

Savannah couldn't take it anymore and giggled. "And then I screamed yes and fainted right there in the middle of the restaurant before he picked me up and carted me off into a gold gilded carriage."

The CSI's finally got that they were teasing and laughed along with the happy couple.

"So what really happened?" Lindsay pressed curiously, wanting to share in this with her friends. While she wouldn't regret anything she had with Danny, his proposal hadn't been the most romantic and dreamy of things. She wondered if Don Flack, Mr. Sarcastic himself, had it in him.

Savannah smiled the most beautiful smile they had ever seen on her face. She turned to Don and held his eyes even as she told the table of what had happened. "He proposed on the rooftop of my apartment building. And to sweeten the deal, he got us a puppy!" she said excitedly.

"You got her a dog as an engagement gift?" Danny asked dubiously.

"Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," Mac said just low enough for Danny to hear. Danny got the point his boss was trying to make. After all, his engagement 'gift' to Lindsay had been punching a suspect to get some extra time with her before he married her.

"Yeah, I got a dog," Don defended. "It'll be fun. I always wanted a dog anyway."

Jo, sensing that a change of topic was in order, leaned over and requested, "Can I see the ring?"

"Oh, of course," Savannah replied, blithely ignoring the slight tension that had cropped up between Danny and Mac. She extended her hand so that everyone could see the finely crafted ring fitting perfectly onto her finger as if it was made to be there from the moment she became an adult. Lindsay and Jo did the prerequisite 'ooh-ing' and 'ahh-ing' while Mac and Adam admired it silently.

"That is some fine workmanship," Hawkes remarked, his eye for detail picking out that this was no ordinary ring. "Looks like a custom design."

"It is," nodded Don.

"Aw, look, at the core you're just a big softy," Danny teased, clapping his best friend on the back once more.

Flack favoured him with a roll of his eyes but his smile widened. "Yeah, well, you're lucky I am. I want you to be my best man. You know, when we eventually get married in about a year."

Danny's cheekiness morphed into a more serious, subdued joy. It was like he couldn't really believe he had just been asked that. "You want me to stand by you in a penguin suit while I watch you go through one of the happiest times in your life? You know I'm down for that buddy."

"Don't get too excited," Savannah reminded gently. "Like Don said, maybe a year we're thinking of setting the date." She turned her contented gaze upon Lindsay. "I was also wondering…and these are only really basic plans we've gone over in the past few days – between me moving and such-"

"You guys moved in?" Mac asked, easily picking up on some things not mentioned.

"Well, I figured, get a dog, ask her to move in, propose. Might as well," shrugged Flack.

"Triple whammy," quipped Jo.

Savannah broke the chain of teasing by enunciating, "_Anyway_, what I wanted to ask is…would we be able to have Lucy for our flower girl when the time comes?"

Lindsay felt her heart warm at the fact that her child meant so much to the couple before her, some of her best friends, that she was to be included in whatever they would plan. She nodded vigorously. "Definitely. She'd love it, I think."

"Probably steal the show," Don grinned.

"She's a Messer, of course she does," Adam teased Danny lightly. Danny smirked in acknowledgement of the easy joke.

Mac was the next person that Savannah turned to, her curls shifting as she tilted her head to get a better take of his expression. She wanted to analyse every nuance of his face when she asked him. "Mac, we want you to play a part too. You've done so much for me since I've come to New York, and you remind me a lot of what I can remember of my father. You feel like a father figure to me, and it would be an honour if you would consider giving me away."

All eyes turned to the older man, whose eyes widened infinitesimally in shock. His expression remained that way for a moment before he smiled, and some of the constant weariness in his eyes lifted. "Anna, it would be _my_ honour to give you away," he said quietly, a rivulet of emotion bleeding through his tone.

Don shook his head slightly to pull himself out of the warm memories that slid like a comforting blanket across the forefront of his mind. It was only an hour before the ceremony began and he was about to leave Danny's apartment. Savannah, he knew, was probably doing the finishing touches in Jacks's apartment across town.

He took a deep breath and let it out, turning to Danny and his brother Michael who he had picked as his other groomsman, and spread his arms out. "How do I look?"

"Like a goof," Michael replied with a touch of sarcasm, but overall he looked less sour than his usual countenance.

"You look fine. Savannah is going to have that massive grin of hers on her face once she sees you. Personally, I want to see if I win my bet with my wife. I reckon you're going to bawl like a baby when you guys do the vows. Linds says you won't," Danny replied, folding his arms and talking plainly, which is what he sensed Don needed.

"Nice to know there's always bets going around," the tallest of the three men drawled sardonically. He felt a second of anxiety and asked, "You got the rings Danno?"

Danny patted his jacket pocket and then smoothed down the deep purple tie to make it sit right. "Yep. Checked 'em every half an hour."

Rubbing his hands together, he cleared his mind and looked between the suited men that would stand by his side on this amazing summer day. "Okay," he breathed. "Let's do this."

* * *

"Savannah!"

Realising that she had been up on the rooftop for too long staring at the herbs and flowers in her old garden, Savannah rushed out of it to find Jacks waiting impatiently for her at the door that exited out to the roof. Her cousin was all dolled up in her bridesmaid gown, a flattering, deep purple that was an inch shy of the ground thanks to the high heels she wore. It was a square cut neckline with a bodice that cinched in her waist and displayed her short, slender figure well. Her hair was all pinned up in a messy bun that had taken an hour for the hair stylist to perfect and she had make up on.

Unfortunately, she looked distinctly disapproving.

"Chere, the ceremony is in an hour," Jacks murmured.

"I know, I know, I just needed a little time," countered Savannah, hurrying across the pavement between them to reach her cousin's side. "At least I didn't put on my dress yet so I didn't get it dirty."

"One saving grace," muttered Jacks, rolling her eyes. "Ever since you got here this morning, your head has been in the clouds." Her expression was astute. "You're not having cold feet are you?"

Realising what it appeared she was doing, the taller brunette shook her head. "No way! I'm so excited to be married, you have no idea. No, I'm just so happy. Today I'm marrying the man who I love deeply and who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I can't think of a better day. It's exactly a year after he proposed and I can't help but think about how we were a year ago, all the hard things we've been through and it's just made us stronger together." She glanced up to the cloudless sky, the sun shining warmly on her face as if giving its most beautiful blessing. "I was just taking time to be grateful that my life has been so full and that I am so lucky and rich in love. This is it Jacks. I never want to go back from here."

Jacks smiled at her. "I'm so happy that _you're_ happy. You deserve it. Now, if only everyone could find their perfect match like you," she teased.

Savannah embraced her then.

"Don't worry, you'll find someone Jacks. Someone who'll flip your life on end and make you see everything as if it's a clearer, crisper, more wonderful world," she whispered encouragingly. Her tone turned teasing and she reminded, "Besides, a lot of Flack relatives are coming. Maybe you'll find a hot cousin, hmm?"

That made the shorter woman laugh. "I look forward to it. Now come on, we have to get you sorted."

They made their way down to her apartment where Samantha Flack was just getting the last touches of her makeup finalised. She had on the same bridesmaids dress Jacks did, and also had her hair elegantly pulled back so that her fringe framed her face. She chided teasingly, "You better not be running out on my brother."

"Oh, darn, my plan has been found out, I've been planning on eloping with the dog walker that takes Diana out every day," Savannah bantered.

Sam just grinned. "By the end of the day, we'll officially be sisters in law. That's so cool."

"I know!" the bride to be exclaimed as she quickly went into the bedroom to put her dress on before getting her makeup done. Her hair was already fixed up – a thick lock of hair had been braided from one side of her head to the other, purple and green ribbon threaded through it – making it look a little bit like a tiara all of its own. She had decided not to go with a veil and made the decision to leave her dark tresses free and curly. Neat, but more casual than the fussy pinned up styles she had seen in the wedding magazines.

Plus, she knew that Don loved her hair free so he could run his hands through it when they were alone.

She carefully slipped the dress on, sighing in that surprised-happy way a bride does when she realises the moment is upon her and this is the appearance she would be making.

It was a pure white simple organza and lace masterpiece that had a sweetheart cut with an illusion v-neckline which kept the dress elegant and modest. It was fitted to her torso, showing off the lace detailing of the bodice, before making the most of Savannah's curves as it flowed to the floor. Once she placed the matching heels on, the hem of the dress was only a few millimetres off the ground.

It suited her very well, the whiteness seeming to make her features glow and her bouncy curls shine.

As she went out the front to take her turn in the makeup chair, she saw Jacks filming her. Sam was the one to admire her look. "Don's going to freeze when he sees you. I mean it. I bet he's going to forget everything except for how beautiful you look," she said kindly.

"As long as he doesn't forget his vows," said Savannah.

"I'm sure he won't."

Aunt Emilie, too frail to be up and about after a recent bout of the flu, watched the proceedings with a smug aura about her, as if she had known this would be inevitable. Her wizened form relaxed against her daughter's couch and her head leaned against Jacks. "That man has wanted this for too long. If anything, I'm sure he won't forget his vows."

Anna was assured by her Aunt's conviction. When she had announced her engagement to Jacks and Aunt Emilie, they had congratulated her enthusiastically and Aunt Emilie had beamed and said, "I knew it." They had looked at her strangely, but she cryptically refused to answer their questions.

Jacks had been so overjoyed by the news that when Savannah asked her to be maid of honour, she screamed and jumped around. Jacks had been the best, co-conspiring with the self nominated wedding coordinator, Jo, and helping Don and Anna plan everything they needed. It was Jacks that had organised a memorable Hens Night with Jo, Lindsay, and bringing the surprise in the form of Stella up to New York. They had all gone out to enjoy New York nightlife, going to bar after bar and all of them getting Savannah drunk on her favourite Pina Coladas. They had ended up at a strip bar tailor made for women, with hunky guys performing Magic Mike-esque routines. They had laughed and shrieked through the thrilling show, Savannah having the guts to jump on stage to shove a handful of one dollar notes into the side of the g-string worn by one dancer as a dare from Lindsay. When she had returned her hung-over cousin to a bewildered Don Flack the next day, Jacks had cheerily said, "She's all yours!" before running off.

Now, they were ready to go. Aunt Emilie held out the bouquets for them to take. Sam and Jacks had small posies of white roses while Savannah had a much larger one of white and purple roses with baby's breath arranged around the outside. It matched the flower arrangement in the dining hall where the reception would be. Aunt Emilie held the final, tiny bouquet.

"Where's the flower girl?" the old woman rasped.

There was a knock on the door and then Lindsay entered, a shy Lucy in her lilac flowergirl's dress hiding behind her. "I hope I'm on time," she said. She then smiled at her friend. "Anna, you look amazing!"

Savannah smiled back and then took the small bunch of roses from her Aunt and knelt before Lucy. "Hey Miss Lucy. Want to take those for me?"

When the little girl smiled, it was then that Savannah truly felt ready.

* * *

Olivia and Donald Flack Sr. sat contentedly in the front row of chairs, glad that their son and to-be daughter-in-law had decided to get shade nets to cover the seating area. "Smart," remarked the Flack matriarch. "At least no one will get sunburnt like they did at our wedding."

"You wanted it here, so we held it here," Donald replied, smiling fondly in remembrance.

They, along with the other guests, were all taking their seats in a secluded part of the Queens Botanical Gardens – the same spot they had been married 39 years ago. When Don and Anna had put forward getting hitched in the same place, it had brought tears to Olivia's eyes at how much her son and his fiancée wanted to honour the tradition. It had been the biggest compliment to the older couple and a sign of respect.

"I knew this would happen eventually, but now that we're here, watching our other son get married, I almost can't believe it," Olivia sighed happily.

"You said it yourself, darling. Those two are smitten. It was bound to happen," the blue eyed ex-detective replied, slipping an arm around his wife's shoulders in a habitual motion. He smiled. "I know that this'll last. And I'm proud of having a daughter-in-law like Savannah. She balances Donnie out perfectly."

"I can feel my ears burning."

Don came up to his parents, having just arrived, looking dapper in his suit in the plain black and white, the only colour being the purple rose boutonniere. The suit wasn't a full tuxedo to keep with the casual theme of the garden wedding. He was smiling in a way that told them he was trying not to let it be a full on grin. Olivia rose and hugged him. "You look very handsome Donnie."

"Thanks Ma," he replied, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

Donald just gave his son a fond look. He and Don had a good long talk last night when tradition dictated the bride and groom not see each other a full day before the wedding. They had talked about communication, keeping the relationship balanced and alive when you prepared to spend so many years together. They had chatted about keeping at it, and when hard times came, to do the same thing they had done every other time and to continue the trust in each other. After that, he felt like his fatherly duties had been fulfilled.

Don looked from his mother to scan out over the assembled chairs. There were most of his relatives, and they far outnumbered Savannah's. He had grandparents (the ones that were still living) from both sides, cousins, aunts, uncles, and even a few close family friends. Savannah only had her Aunt and Jacks as true relatives, but what she didn't have biologically she made up for in family in other ways.

All of their friends from the lab were there, as well as his closest detective friends and their dates/wives, and all of the workers from Savannah's cafe who she had become close to over the course of the past year. There were about 70 people that had some along, small, considering the 250 that had come along for his brother Michael's massive frou-frou wedding. To see everyone there, looking excited for this event, helped ease some of the tension he had been feeling.

"Yo, Don, time to line up," Danny called from his place at the top of the wedding aisle that was lined with white and green ribbon.

Reverend Paolo stepped up as Don did. He was the priest to the chapel Savannah went to every week on a Monday night and had gotten well acquainted with the couple. He was benevolent in his robes as he turned to the groom. "Don, nice to see you on time," he murmured. "Now, it's time to tell if Savannah is as well."

"Something tells me that to tease, she's going to be five minutes late," the taller man said with a certain knowing.

The guests were seated.

The groom and his groomsmen were all ready and waiting at the top of the aisle as the time ticked over to 2pm.

Don couldn't see Danny, but he could tell his best friend was smiling at his last second jitters. He tried to disguise them – the rocking on his heels every now and then, and the deeper intakes of breath to keep from asking what time it was.

Like Flack had predicted, the bridal party was a few minutes late. But from the moment he saw Lucy Messer in her lilac flowergirl's dress, a wash of relief flowed over his soul. She was here. The way the entrance to the garden was set up, he wouldn't even be able to see Savannah until she came around the hedge. He knew Mac was there, waiting to lead her down. As soon as Lucy began to walk down the grass pathway toward him, Don could almost feel Anna's presence.

Lucy stole the spotlight as she slowly walked toward her favourite uncle and father, her posy of flowers tucked under her arm so she could clap happily in time to the soft piano melody that had played through the area from the speakers set up as soon as she had made her appearance. Her dark blonde hair swung as she looked this way and that, giggling in her curiosity and waving back to the people who waved at her. It was when she reached the end of the aisle that Sam came around the corner, smiling happily up at her brother. She held his eyes and mouthed, 'She's beautiful' to him.

Don licked his lips and swallowed in anticipation.

Soon, Jacks came down, cheekily winking at the groomsmen as she did so. She had just arrived and lined up in front of Sam next to the Reverend when Mac came into view, Savannah on his arm.

His heart stopped.

Don was sure of it.

Everything faded – there was no other thing in this universe – except for the perfection, the crystal clear beauty of Savannah Cormier.

It wasn't just the dress, which fit her perfectly and showed off her curvaceous form, or the way her hair, held back by the ribbon twined braid, flowed and curled, gently lifted by the wind and moving about behind her like in a Hollywood movie. It wasn't even that delicate touch of makeup, enhancing those entrancing green-grey eyes. It wasn't the bouquet of flowers that could never compare to her wondrousness.

It was that expression on her face that had Don speechless.

Her eyes held both the wonderment of a child discovering something new and the conviction of a woman who loved and needed and wanted. They were so alight in her happiness that it was no longer a candle that burned in them, but a lighthouse shining a beacon. She was smiling, the tops of her cheeks turning rosy in her delight, and she was so graceful walking down the aisle towards him.

Towards their future.

Unbeknownst to Don, Savannah was feeling the same. She had almost stumbled upon seeing her future husband waiting for her – it was only Mac's arm, a pillar of strength, that had kept her steady. She felt massive butterflies, the good kind, swooping around somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach as she walked towards the head of the aisle. She felt ready to burst with excitement. Don looked so distinguished and handsome, silhouetted by the early afternoon light with the rest of their wedding party. He had never looked happier. He had a crooked smirk like he was stunned by a brilliant surprise and he was lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Relax," Mac whispered to her calmly.

"I can't help it," she replied in a hushed tone so only Mac could hear it. "I'm about to get married!"

That made him smile and he murmured, "Not a happier couple anywhere else in the world right now."

They reached the end of the aisle and Mac gave her away by taking her bouquet, leading her up to Don, kissing her cheek, and placing her hands in his before retreating to his seat.

The couple gazed at each other, unable to keep the smiles off their faces.

Reverend Paolo began. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Savannah Patia Cormier to Donald Flack Jr. in holy matrimony…"

Don couldn't even fully concentrate on the words the reverend was saying. All he could feel was the sanctity of this moment, Savannah's hands in his, intertwined, the sensation of her skin against his own feeling new, like they had never held hands before. He was lost in her smile, her eyes, that look of complete trust and devotion. He whispered, "You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You're the most beautiful man in the world," she replied softly.

A little while later, they arrived to the vows. Savannah and Don had chosen to learn them off by heart instead of repeating what the reverend said. They had chosen something traditional with a personal spin on it.

Savannah felt tears come to her eyes, a touch of nervousness making her stall for a few seconds, before her voice carried strongly, melodically, over the family and friends gathered.

"I, Savannah Cormier, take you Don Flack, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us. I promise to come to you with my problems and that we will always be truthful and loyal to each other. I am secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love and that we will love without reservation. I cannot wait to grow, laugh, and cry with you over the course of our lives," she said, the honesty in her heart projected through her words.

Don felt her words physically, like he was being lifted up by some invisible force, heart warming. Now, to return the favour. "I, Don Flack, take you Savannah Cormier, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us. I promise to protect you and comfort you, and that we will always be truthful and loyal to each other. I am secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love and that we will love without reservation. I cannot wait to grow, laugh, and cry with you over the course of our lives…together."

Savannah felt her tears break her tenuous hold and she made a blissful sigh-gasping sound when the vow was concluded. They slipped down her cheeks, only to be lovingly wiped away.

She could tell by the soft sounds behind her and to the side of her that she wasn't the only one crying.

Reverend Paolo softly requested of Danny, "The rings, please."

Danny gave the first ring, Savannah's, to Paolo. It was platinum to match her engagement ring, a simple band with the date engraved on the inside. The only fanciness about the ring was a single, tiny, heart shaped diamond in the centre.

The reverend held it out and blessed it, saying, "May this ring be blessed so he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end." Don then took it from him, but paused. This is something else they changed about the ceremony. Danny then held out Don's ring, another platinum band, thicker, wider to make it more masculine. It, too, had the date inscribed on the inside. Reverend Paolo made the same blessing over that as well, and handed it to Savannah.

Simultaneously, the couple slid the rings onto each other's fingers and pronounced, "With this ring, I wed thee. Wear it as a symbol of our enduring love."

Reverend Paolo then closed his prayer book and announced in a louder tone, "May this couple be prepared to continue to give, be able to forgive, and experience more and more joy with each passing day, with each passing year. With Don and Savannah are now beginning their married life together, we hope that they may have loving assistance from their family, the constant support of friends, and a long life with good health and everlasting love. They have consented to live forever together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, having given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and having declared same by the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife." He then looked between the two expectant faces, drawing out this moment, letting the sweetness of it build so they could savour it. "I introduce to you now Mr and Mrs. Don Flack. You may now kiss the bride."

Savannah and Don didn't immediately kiss like many expected them to. Instead, Savannah wrapped her arms around him as they gazed deeply into each other's eyes. Don grinned then, joking, "I get a direct line to awesome food forever now. You're stuck with me, babe."

Savannah just laughed, the trilling joy reaching all assembled.

"Good," she said firmly as he twirled her around and dipped her in secure arms, laying their first kiss as a wedded couple on her lips.

They only barely heard the cheers and the laughter at the purely 'Flack' comment, lost in the magic of the moment.

When they righted themselves and faced the people who mattered most to them in the world, they held their joined hands up in jubilation. They had finally found their way.

* * *

**A/N: It was a rainy day. The muse was bored. So she thought….FAIRYTALE ENDING! Oh my gosh, I am SO PROUD of that. I really am, and I hope you all enjoyed it, and I hope you all enjoyed the finished product of this story. I hope you found Savannah and Don's love believable and honest. Thank you so, so much for reading this fic, it's been such a big project for me to tackle. Reviews are warmly welcomed.**

**As for a sequel to this: I'm not sure. I think I want to focus on another idea brewing before finishing off the series with a third storyline. **

**Thank you all once again. It's been an absolute joy to write this fic, through everything I put the characters through. Here's to seeing you all in other fanfictions!**

**-Myr**


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